


Demons

by GreenNebulae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demons, M/M, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenNebulae/pseuds/GreenNebulae
Summary: Jim is sure Moriarty is a demon, he's in Jim's head, he's controlling Jim's body. This changes when he meets Sherlock, who makes Moriarty retreat to think and John, who gets Moriarty to vanish. "You're so good you make me good." Jim says to John and its true, it is so true that Moriarty wants John too. Moriarty wants to take John apart piece by piece.





	1. Chapter 1

“Please join me in congratulating Carl Powers,” the speaker booms and Jim looks down, as if just mentioning the name could summon the boy to the classroom. He has miraculously been absent from class so far, and Jim is hoping it would stay that way. “…in a win that places him in our school’s record books.” Jim can hear the other children in the class murmuring about how amazing Carl was. He was so strong. He was almost as tall as the teachers. Jim lets his hands fiddle with his pencil. Carl was great to so many, but not to poor little Jim. He was positively evil to Jim. 

“In just two months’ time,” the announcement continues, and even the teacher looks annoyed at having been interrupted for too long. “Carl will be traveling for our school…” Jim perks up at that. How long would he be gone? 

“So once again, please join me in congratulating Carl Powers!” She concludes and the classroom around him erupts into laughter, cheers and applause. Jim just twirls his pencil around his fingers and looks at the teacher. Mr. Brown, the new teacher, is politely clapping as he leans on the desk. One girl, she is infatuated with the swimmer, jumps to her feet and the others follow her. The teacher shakes his head and Jim tries to drown out the sound and sinks further into his seat. The noise loudens and Jim looks up to see Carl in the front of the room. Jim wishes he had stayed home. 

… 

“Yo, Irishman, why didn’t you clap?” Jim feels the others hands on his back and lifts his arms to prevent his face from contact with the locker. His arms sting and he is trying to hold back the tears as he feels the taller boy turn him around. 

“Are you not happy for me?” Carl’s hand fists in his shirt and pulls him forward before slamming him back against the lockers. Jim lets the tears fall and yells out, but Carl’s other hand covers his mouth. “So smart, but you haven’t learned that lesson yet have you?” Jim feels his feet leave the ground and wonders if there is anyplace he could kick to cause the most damage. Jim feels himself drop as he hears footsteps around the corner. 

“Carl? James?” Their teacher asks as he sees them. Carl smiles widely and Jim can’t bring his face to move or his hands to his tears. “Everything okay?” Carl nods and wraps an arm around Jim’s shoulders.   
“Yeah, he wanted to congratulate me in person!” Jim nods as soon as he feels the hand tighten but their teacher doesn’t look convinced.   
“Jim, I need to talk to you, so come on.” Jim is thankful for the small miracles and sprints from Carl’s side to Mr. Brown’s side. Small victories. Neither of them speak until they are in Mr. Browns classroom and he lifts Jim to make him sit on his table. 

“Has Carl been bullying you?” Jim looks away. Carl has been bullying him for years; it has only grown worse since the year started. “Well, I know the truth, whether or not you answer.” Jim wonders what will happen now. He looks away   
“Can I go home now?” Mr. Brown nods with a frown.   
“Come to me if you need anything, don’t let the bully’s win. They don’t deserve it.” 

Jim wants to ask what they do deserve, but just hops off the desk and hurries home. 

… 

The next time Mr. Brown sees the two together he steps between them and Carl scoffs before walking away. Jim wraps his arms around Mr. Brown’s leg and Mr. Brown knows that this has already gone too far. Jim follows Mr. Brown in secret and sits on the floor outside the principal’s office and listens to the other two talk. 

“Carl Powers is bullying my student.”   
“Now, I doubt that.” Carl hears the principal say. “Carl is such a nice boy. Did you know he won the swimming-”   
“I know.” He interrupts. Jim can’t help the small smile that comes to his face.   
“So if there is bullying, what do you suggest we do?”   
“Suspend him.” The answer is quick and Jim shifts.   
“That will disqualify him from the swimming championships.” She doesn’t like that idea very much.   
“I know, and I know you don’t think that’s fair, but he is terrorizing another student. It’s physical bulling!”   
“Terrorizing!” The principal laughs and Jim’s smile fades, he feels angry. He stands. This isn’t a joke! “It’s just boys being boys.” She defends.   
“That’s the worst excuse I have ever heard.” Jim hears shuffling and knows Mr. Brown is preparing to leave the office. He runs as fast as he can. 

The next time he is at the library, he exchanges his fairy tale book with one about human biology, the librarian thinks it may too much for him, but he doesn’t care. He also doesn’t know why he wants that one or why he spends all night reading it. 

... 

“You know Mr. Brown isn’t going to be here to save you every time.” Carl started and Jim clutched his biology book closer to his chest.   
“I want you to stop hurting me.” He says and almost regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Carl knocks the book out of his hands and Jim feels Carl’s knee impact his chest and coughs out a few times. He stares at the book before looking up at Carl. Carl tilts his head at the change in Jim’s eyes. 

“You won’t stop.” Carl smiles and Jim sees the biology book laid out across Carl’s body. He can see the organs and ribs, the muscles and arteries. He remembers their necessity and wonders where he should hit to cause the most damage. “Not until you’re dead.” He speaks again and Carl takes two steps back. 

“Jim!” Mr. Brown calls out and Jim picks up his biology book and treasures the look of fear on Carl’s face. He turns away and walks towards Mr. Brown with a small smile on his face. As Mr. Brown frets over him, Jim can feel himself returning to normal.   
“I’m fine, Mr. Brown, really, you came before he could do much.” Jim coughs again and Mr. Brown narrows his eyes.   
“I don’t care what she says; I’m going to suspend that boy.”   
“It’s okay,” Jim says softly, not entirely sure why. Then his voice lowers as he stops kicking his legs. “I can take care of myself.” Mr. Brown clearly doesn’t believe him 

“Okay, and what are you going to do next time?” 

_I’ll go for the trachea._ Jim opens his mouth but doesn’t reply, his answer shocking him. Mr. Brown sighs and Jim hops off the desk to head home. 

… 

“Who are you?” Jim turns a page in his book as he talks out loud   
“What do you mean?” he answers himself, “I’m you, I’m Jim.”   
“No.” Jim insists. “I’m Jim, you’re different.” Jim points to the knight in the picture.   
“I’m your armor but I’m still you.” Jim’s hand extends to cover the entire picture of the knight and the horse. “If I can’t share your name then you can call me Moriarty.” Jim smiles as he traces the knight’s outline.   
“So Moriarty,” Jim begins, “you’re here to protect me, does that mean you’ll protect me against Carl too?” 

… 

Moriarty says he knows what bullies deserve. Jim listens. 

Carl has eczema. Moriarty shows Jim the skin on his jacket and Carl’s shoelaces. 

That makes his skin extra porous to things like poison. 

It makes everything easier. 

… 

Jim smiles as the principal makes the announcement that class would be interrupted to watch Carl’s swim meet. Mr. Brown had done what he could, but it was Moriarty that protected Jim. Jim watches as the gun goes off and Carl starts swimming. Moriarty smirks when Carl seems to stop moving and have a fit. The feed cuts off and the next announcement is much more solemn, but Jim and Moriarty are smiling as they know he’s gone. 

Jim doesn’t want to sign the card that Mr. Brown passes around the next day, but Moriarty does, so Jim watches the loopy cursive signing his last name before he passes it off. By the end of it, the school seems to be in mourning but Jim couldn’t wait to celebrate. 

… 

“The armor comes off after the dragon is slayed.” Jim says, and he’s not sure what he wants Moriarty to do.   
“You’re not done yet.” Moriarty responds and Jim begins to brush his teeth.   
_What’s next?_   
**_Other people have bullies too; you can help them get rid of theirs._**

Jim smiles and the suds fall from his lips to the sink. 

… 

The first boys Jim helps start following him around. He doesn’t mind, Moriarty stresses the importance of numbers. A few years after, they grow into puberty very well and though Moriarty is still lanky and unassuming, his minions are anything but. 

“You really should leave her alone.” Jim crosses his arms and Moriarty takes in everything. The tilt of his fingers indicate they were all broken; parental abuse. Yellow nails indicate cigarettes. The fur on his pants tell Moriarty he has multiple pets.   
“What’s it to you, short stack!” The short, pale blonde woman is crying, and Jim tilts his head as he uses Moriarty’s words and deductions to reduce the man to tears. When, finally, the man decides to attack the 16-year-old. Jim ducks and his friends take care of the man. 

He didn’t know this woman would be the future love interest to one Irene Adler, but his network starts here. 

“Boss.” Jim looks over his shoulder to see the man on the floor, bleeding and crying. “should we go?”   
“You have a nice day,” Jim bids the woman farewell as he disappears into the shadows with them. 

“We should get more people involved.” Jim says to his reflection. He nods and lifts his hand to his chin.   
“I couldn’t agree more, Jim.” 

… 

Moriarty had always been a voice inside his head. Jim always listened but Jim had a choice, at least he thought. He built his network as he built his knowledge, and now he had hundreds of people ready to help him, most of them had never seen his face. He went by Moriarty more than Jim. 

… 

Moriarty is a demon. Jim is sure of it. He’s in control today, and he doesn’t know what he should do. He can hear Moriarty’s buzz in the back of his head and goes to the bathroom to wash his face. He wets his face and towels off, realizing he’s gotten water on his shirt and jeans. He laughs softly and wants to go out and meet people. He looks up and sees his reflection in the mirror. 

Jim looks into his own eyes in the mirror and blinks. Then he sees the demon, wearing his skin like a costume, but it’s got horns and bony wings, claws and no eyeballs. The demon he called Moriarty as a child. It turns its head and Jim pulls back gasping. He hits the wall behind him and gasps, but he’s still in control. He’s still got his body. 

Now, more than ever, he wants to go out and be normal, so he does. He goes shopping for clothes for him, not Westwood, and goes out to party. 

He doesn’t have much fun; still, he can hear the music over Moriarty’s buzzing in his head. Small victories. 

… 

At some point it changes. 

Moriarty and Jim fight for dominance. Jim can’t tell if he’d wake up as himself or a voice in his head. It’s war. Moriarty turns Jim’s network to crime, and they follow him like dogs. Jim watches and watches himself lose the war until he has no choice but to join. There is no redemption for him, not ever. 

Moriarty watches Jim become another pet, another minion, just another part of the network.


	2. John Watson

The first time Moriarty hears of Sherlock Holmes’ work he silences and retreats into Jim’s head. Jim doesn’t know what to do with all the free time, but he keeps to his schedule and can’t help but wonder about Sherlock Holmes. He digs and digs for information on this man who could make Moriarty shut up. What he finds isn’t disappointing. Sherlock’s a proper genius. Jim wonders if Sherlock is a weapon he can use, an ally he could make., but the truth is he is not the hero Jim was hoping for or an ally against himself. Sherlock is a rival to Moriarty in brainpower and that is why the other retreated. When Moriarty comes back with such staggering force that Jim falls down, Jim abandons hope for reclaiming his body. 

“I’m not done with you.” He says to himself as he changes out of jeans into a suit. “I’ve just,” he looks into the mirror to check his present-ability, “found someone more interesting to play with.” As he leaves his room he makes sure the network is running smoothly before listening in on a debate Moriarty knows his latest crime will have swayed and pulling up a CTV of Sherlock Holmes. 

If Sherlock hadn’t been interesting on his own, his brother, Mycroft, would have been enough incentive to play with and test the detective. As it is, Moriarty feels as if he had hit the jackpot. Jim watches as Moriarty follows the man. Jim listens as Moriarty praises the other. He finds amusement in the way Moriarty answers the questions Sherlock directs at his skull. Moriarty keeps track of all of Sherlock’s cases but decides he wants more of a challenge for him. He would have to create a case for the other, get him to come out and play. Introducing Jefferson Hope into the equation taught them about Sherlock and introduced his sidekick. They were useful; especially ex-soldiers. He would know; he had one. 

He ignored John, as anyone would, because he’s a fiercely loyal soldier whose loyalty lies with queen and country, morally sound, good with a gun, but he’s not extraordinary. Jim Moriarty was looking for extraordinary and he found it in Sherlock Holmes. John blogged about the cabbie, how cute, a pet, but it didn’t tell Moriarty more about Sherlock. He’d need more information. 

He brings in the Chinese and watches everything. He watches Sherlock try to find the book and fretting with the police. He is on the side of the angels and Moriarty was trying to bring out the viciousness in him. He saw it with Hope and Moriarty wanted to see it again. He watches Sherlock struggle with an assassin and the hair pin and how his pet seemed to be a weak spot. Interesting. The Chinese kidnapped the pet and his girlfriend and mistook him for Sherlock. How could there even be confusion? He has to have Moran get rid of them once Sherlock succeeds and it puts a bit of a damper on his reach in China but it is well worth it. He learns that Sherlock likes to dance, and that Moriarty would have to find the perfect song. 

The blog was useful for one thing, and that was the description of the cell phone the woman had planted on the killer. He did not get to see it so he took the pet’s word on it. He called his soldier and set up some clues. Sherlock didn’t know about pop culture, or the solar system which would be useful. He could also play with brother dearest who had been annoying of late. It would have to be military codes. 

It is perfect. 

Dangerous games are the best kind. 

… 

For all of Moriarty’s interest in Sherlock, they decided that Jim would be the one to meet the duo; after all, the best knowledge came firsthand and Moriarty knows he would give himself away. He started a few weeks ago, in IT with Ms. Molly Hooper. She was a nice shy girl and Jim felt bad for leading her on but it was all part of the plan. Everything starts today, the day Moriarty meets Sherlock and Sherlock meets Jim. 

“What do I wear?” Jim asks cautiously as he stands by his bed, not wanting to anger the other and lose his temporary freedom.   
“Whatever you want.” Moriarty answers back as he grabs neon underwear and tan jeans. Jim grabs a white shirt and Moriarty puts on the watch.   
“I look like Jim,” he smiles quickly and nervously before frowning.   
“We are Jim.” 

There is an explosion. There are five pips. There are shoes in Sherlock’s flat building. 

“…Office romance.” Jim watches Sherlock look over his shoulder and smiles slightly.   
“Gay.” Sherlock announces and Jim is in awe. He’s so smart. Maybe, he could beat Moriarty. Not likely, he tells himself. Molly’s smile fades and Jim catches John looking him up and down. Jim is not sure why, but watching John taking him in proved pleasurable and the extra glance his underwear got made him want to blush. Moriarty had no thoughts on him and Jim realized he was being quiet again. Jim stared at Sherlock, the awe from John never fading off of his face. John; standing in perfect parade rest behind him. John, looking so nice with his combed hair and red shirt. Sherlock looks up out of the scope. 

“Nothing,” he looks over to him. “Um, Hey.” Sherlock smiles politely but even Jim can tell it is false. He lets his hands play with each other before resting them on the table and knocking something down. Moriarty seizes the opportunity to slide his number into what he knocked down before replacing it. Moriarty revels in the feel of his rival’s eyes on him. Sherlock couldn’t see through Jim but Moriarty feels the charge coming from a challenge. 

“Well, I better be off,” John’s arms are crossed now and Jim scratches his arm. Molly looks to him and nods. “I’ll see you…” he starts talking to Molly as he turns to watch Sherlock. John is watching the genius too.   
“Yeah.”   
“It was nice to meet you.” He says to Sherlock as he rubs his hand along Molly’s back. John is looking between the two of them and bids farewell for Sherlock. 

Jim and Moriarty look to John in that instant realizing something they both overlooked, John is important. Moriarty knows John is the way to Sherlock, and kidnapping him needs to happen at some point. Jim realizes something else, John and Sherlock make the other quiet and this needs to be explored. For the first time in a while Jim and Moriarty could agree; they needed John. 

He leaves. Jim feels the buzz in his head get stronger with every step away from them, but by the time he walks out of the building the buzz fades to a low hum as Moriarty disappears for a few hours, likely to plan the dramatic finally. Jim follows their progress and doesn’t know who he wants to watch more; the unassuming pet, who may have more of a bite than bark or the consulting detective, who has been interesting from the very start. 

He should have known that Sherlock wouldn’t just pick anyone for a pet. 

It doesn’t take him long to figure out the shoes belong to Carl Powers. The name echoes in Jim’s head again and takes him back to oh so many years ago. It takes him back to Mr. Brown and meeting Moriarty. Jim remembers the feeling of bullies, wanting to make sure they never hurt again. He remembers what they disserve. More than that, he remembered the moment he realized he was a bully. Moriarty is too good, too untouchable. 

“Seb,” Jim shifted the phone against his ear. “I’m going to need you to keep an eye on dear old Dr. Watson.”


	3. The First Abduction

John knows something is wrong after the man in the black jacket crosses the corner. He’s being tailed. John lets out a breath as he fists his hands in his pockets. He knows he can take his tail, but if the odds are stacked against him and his tail has friends then he’s SOL. John tries to grab his phone, but he doesn’t know how to text with it in his pocket. 

There’s a deli on the next corner with a camera, he can pop in there and lose the tail. Even if that doesn’t work, there would at least be some video of the man that hopefully the police and Sherlock would be able to use to find him. He watches two other men step out of a car ahead of him and takes them in. Their coats are too warm for the weather; even John has forgone his usual jumper today. They stand tall and have large glasses covering their face. He stops walking as he glares at the two men walking towards him. The corner of his mouth lifts as he breathes out through his nose. 

He listens as the footsteps get closer to him. He peeks into the window next to him to see the man is pulling something out of his coat and will be close enough to hit in 3…2…1… John spins as he punches the man. The other man drops the syringe as his hands come up to cover his nose; broken for sure. John turns back to the other two with arms raised but the first of the two swats them to the side with the momentum from John’s spin as the other shoves his head down to bend him in half. John feels a little prick in the back of his neck and not much afterwards. 

John’s head is pounding and he lifts his hands to his head, or he would’ve had they not been bound together behind his back. He opens his eyes to see Jim in front of him. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion as his fingers start to untie the knot between his hands. He looks the man over and yes, that’s Molly’s boyfriend sitting in front of him. John lets out a breath as he looks around, not catching up to the situation.   
“Jim?”   
“You remember me, Johnny boy?” Yes, but just a bit differently than this. John is silent. Moriarty can read the story and thoughts on his face. He was full of expressions. “Jim Moriarty,” Moriarty introduces as he leans back in his chair with disapproval. John’s eyes widen as he tries harder to untie the knot, no telling what Moriarty will do to him. Molly was dating the criminal mastermind; he couldn’t quite believe it.   
“Moriarty?” Moriarty asks aloud, “Moriarty from the games? From the cabbie?” John doesn’t answer him; Moriarty’s look shifts to approval as he smiles a bit. “Nice work on that by the way.” John looks away at the implication. “Although I wouldn’t be too terribly hurt if you didn’t know me, after all, I was only interested in Sherlock myself.” John is almost done with the rope.   
“Who still hasn’t noticed you’re gone.” Moriarty frowns suddenly, “No. I don’t see it, Dr. Watson.”   
“See what?” John asks as he tugs the last bit out of the knot. Just as he goes to move them away from each other he feels another hand descend on his. John closes his eyes with a small sigh and Moriarty’s light up as his frown disappears.   
“Ah! Interesting.” John doesn’t do anything as the man behind him reties the rope, extra tight, around his wrists. John can tell he’s going to lose circulation in-there’s the tingling feeling. Jim watches the look on John’s face turn into a glare and wonders the point of it. John has no hope of escaping Moriarty at this point. Neither of them did. Moriarty continues. “That is a record for untying Moran’s knots. Just for doing it, actually. You also broke somebody’s nose a few hours ago.” 

So he’s been gone a few hours and Sherlock hasn’t noticed he’s gone. 

“But I suppose you’ve had practice in Kandahar.” John stiffens slightly at the name and Moriarty stands. “Yes, I know _all_ about it.” He seems to sing the last part and John maintains the glare as he tries to wiggle his fingers for some circulation. Moriarty turns to walk out of a door behind him and Moran tugs on his own knot. John can feel the pain of the relief as he catches the sight of Moran. A tall, muscular, if not bulky, man covered in black from head to toe. John can’t make out any features and watches the door shut and leave him in complete darkness. 

John had been in a situation like this before, and Moriarty just told him he knew about all of that. He lets out a sigh as he tries to figure out what Moriarty knew about him. The only safe answer is to assume he knows everything but not to give anything away. He had been to a lot of places oversees, but Kandahar is where everything happened. He shakes his head. The other can’t know everything, some things weren’t documented. Him being a POW wasn’t, those 16 days of hell exist only in his mind and are only evidenced on his body. 

If Moriarty knew about Kandahar then there were no secrets. John feel a chill crawl down his spine, was Moriarty going to cause London to be his new nightmare? John shifts, pulling on his ropes. Even if the extent of his stay was unknown, all they had to do was lift his shirt and they’d see all the scars. Someone like him may even be able to tell what made which scars, which ones bled out and which were held shut and burned closed. John shook his head as soon as he felt his leg throb. Focus. 

What does Moriarty know? Everything. 

What can he give away? Nothing. 

He closes his eyes. Will Moriarty hurt him? Maybe. It’s different than last time. Last time he was the target, the others wanted revenge and thought the Captain was the person to start with. He was the endgame of that plan. This time he is the bait and Sherlock is endgame. This was meant to scare him and get him into thinking about his other time, maybe even trigger some of his PTSD. It wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t hurt him too much, if at all. Sherlock. This time everything revolved around Sherlock. 

If it had been a few hours, he couldn’t could on Sherlock knowing he was missing yet. Any text he sent to check up on him could be answered by Moriarty for the time being; therefore, it could be a whole day before Sherlock noticed. John hopes Sherlock doesn’t play into Moriarty’s hand and get caught. If Moriarty is going to hurt either of them, it would need to be John. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to survive something like that. John knows what it does to people with ordinary minds, but it would be different for Sherlock. He’d be tied up and know what was going to happen as the others figured it out, he would be able to remember everything that happened. His mind palace would be shattered. John couldn’t let that happen. 

John shakes his head as he leans forward. His arms strain as he puts all his weight on his toes but it’s no use, the chair is too study to break by falling on it. He sets it back down as he tugs on the knot. It would take way too long to untie. John lets out a breath before looking towards the door. The man in all black, Moran, is back and this time he’s got a vest of explosives with him. It’s small enough to be hidden with a jacket. 

“I’m not bombing anyplace.” John growls out and hears a high pitched laughter in response.   
“Oh, John, that’s not really your choice, is it?” John shakes his head, the sand of Kandahar flashes in his mind.   
“I will not.” He struggles even though he knows it is futile.   
“I’ll kill Sherlock if you don’t.” John lets out a snort and shakes his head.   
“You like him too much.” He tugs again, his shoulder protesting. Jim feels a surge of hope. Moriarty tilts his head in what appears to be interest.   
“Not just kill, torture, worse than what you have had to go through.” John is sure Moriarty has no idea what he had to go through. Even then, John swallows, he can’t. Not even for Sherlock. His life would be one thing, but the victims of the bomb are another and not his to give. Moriarty nods as if he just confirmed something. He motions to John with his hand and Moran gets closer.   
“No.” John says firmly and repeats himself as Moran starts to place it on his lap. John sees the needle as soon as Moran takes it out, and he has no idea what’s in it, but he lets out a string of curses until it renders him unconscious. 

It’s hot, so hot; too hot for Europe. John’s breathing quickens. He can almost hear the voices taunting him. He doesn’t understand the words but he knows their meaning. No. When John wakes up he jerks awake, back arching and hand coming up to grab something that’s not there.   
“Oh dear, it looks like we’ve traumatized him.” John blinks twice before he can really see, and he locks eyes with the man with a gun trained on his head. He knows the man must be a good shot because he is wearing the vest from before. 

“No, we didn’t have to.” John shifts his gaze to spot Moran a few feet away. He knows what Moran doesn’t say: someone else did. He is already defective. “Now, Dr. Watson, I’m going to explain the situation and then you are going to do exactly as you are told.” John doesn’t shift.   
“I really, sincerely, doubt that.” 

_Trust issues_

… 

“This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?” John blinks rapidly three times as soon as Sherlock turns around to see him. He is ridiculously hot in this parka and under that gaze.   
“John,” He blinks slowly this time, three times. Sherlock is still holding out the drive “What the hell.” Three fast blinks, but Sherlock doesn’t show relief. John hears Moriarty laugh. Moriarty must’ve read what Sherlock couldn’t. No matter.   
“Bet you never saw this coming.” He repeats and Sherlock walks towards him. John repeats his series of blinks; now that Sherlock is focused on him he should see it. He should. He doesn’t.   
“Oh Johnny, he sees but does not observe,” John knows the wording is on purpose. 

_I think he wants to be distracted._

John pulls open the parka at Moriarty’s request and curses the two of them and their boredom. He wonders why he has to be the one in between them.   
“What would you like me to make him say next?” John asks Sherlock who seems relieved at it and searches around for him. And John hates the next exchange with every part of him, because it was, word for word, what Jim told him it would be. 

“I’ve given you a glimpse…” And that’s what it was, a glimpse. “No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.” And still Sherlock responds with the exact words Jim told him before. “…even 30 million quid…” John shakes his head because he still can’t believe it. As Moriarty continues, John has to stop himself from yelling fuck it and just tackling the mad wanker. 

Finally, Sherlock asks if he’s alright, after Moriarty and he have talked. Moriarty told John to wait for his okay, and then he would say he’s alright now. Thing is, John hated this script in Moriarty’s head and the fact that the universe seems content to follow it. He would not. He looks Sherlock in the eye and nods. Despite his little change, the rest of the script goes as planned. When Moriarty tosses the plans, John disrupts his plans again; charging towards the madman and hoping someone will shoot him and end this now. 

Moriarty seems pleased; he yells ‘good, very good’ and John wonders if this is still part of Moriarty’s plan. But then, it doesn’t matter too much, as long as Sherlock gets out of here safely. 

When the laser sight is on Sherlock’s head and Moriarty twists slightly in his hold to look at him, John realizes there is no hope. This is all according to plan. Except it’s not, not for Moriarty because each act from John causes Jim to stir and question. Jim is pushing back and Moriarty isn’t equipped to deal with this all at once. Tactical retreat, then. John lets go and Jim quiets a bit. Moriarty continues with his plan and John feels like screaming. Nothing he did could change anything. 

When Sherlock falls to a knee John feels the first rush of panic. He yells his name a few times to try and get Sherlock to say something hoping his voice will break the memory. 

_Captain!_  
I found him!   
Help me untie his legs! 

As soon as the vest comes off breathing becomes the task. He’s too cold. He yells Sherlock again but Sherlock moves past him without a sound. When they untied John in Kandahar he fell to his knees, unable to support his weight. He almost falls on them here before remembering he hasn’t been suspended in air and he can catch himself. Still cold.   
“Oh, Christ.” 

It worked. 

John tries to talk about people talking, anything to get his mind off of this. When he rises he spots the laser sights again and shakes his head. When Sherlock asks him, with a look, if he’s okay with Sherlock’s plan he nods. Moriarty needs to be taken down, no matter the cost. John had been prepared to lay down his life before and this is no different. Instead, when the phone rings and Moriarty walks out, John is left sitting in the back of an ambulance with an orange blanket wondering how he has cheated death again. 

He also spends the time telling himself that the weather is not too cold right now, the air is not too clean, and there is no need to sleep with his gun under his pillow.


	4. Aftermath

Now, the italicized bits are some that the faint of heart should skip. It’s torture from John’s time at war. 

 

_“A doctor at war?” The other comments in English as he uses John’s uniform to clean a blade. It’s still rusty, still likely to infect and kill him that way. John watches and swallows. Where would they cut him-scar him? Or rather, where first? He remembers the field that they took him from, and the shell that went off in the area. His mates may have assumed he was blown to bits. They would never find him. They would never look. “You are a perfect,” he pauses and John wonders if the word doesn’t translate, if that’s how low he is to them. “Opposite.” Contradiction, then.  
“A doctor who kills.” _

_He is a doctor, and a soldier, it is his job to hold lives in his hands. Now, his life is in their hands. The man lifts the blade to John’s left arm and John tries to move away, but he has no leverage being held up by his arms. “I take your armor, but I will leave your badge,” John lets out a small cry as the blade cuts into his skin. It was a light cut, not meant to do damage but the dull blade hurt as it separated his skin. It was a short cut. “Let all know who you are.” John tries to remain strong, but he is sobbing by the 6th cut. They are cutting the cross into his arm, right where it stood on his uniform. He jerks as he cries but can’t move very far. They are just beginning._

_“No,” he pleads as they start the 7th. He screams right after._

“NO!” John screams and Sherlock hisses in pain as John wakes up by using his right hand to pull down Sherlock’s right wrist and twist it. Before either of them could breathe Sherlock feels John’s left hand grab his neck and squeeze. That’s not good. Sherlock’s left hand grabs John’s wrist and he tries to call out and make John aware of his surroundings but he has no air. He can feel the lightheadedness begin. If Sherlock had ever needed proof that John was dangerous he had just gotten it. 

_No. Don’t be boring. I won’t kill you._

Immediately after, Sherlock can breathe again, John pulls back both of his arms and moves away from Sherlock on the bed. A physical retreat. John is breathing heavily now and grabs his head with his hands as Sherlock focuses on deep breaths.   
“Oh Jesus,” John lets the situation sink in. “I’m so sorry Sherlock.”   
“It’s okay,” Sherlock soothes in a whisper. He had seen John like this before, when he first moved into Baker Street. Moriarty must have triggered it. John shakes his head and sighs.   
“Was I loud?” Sherlock nods,   
“I usually play the violin to calm you but it was ineffective.” Sherlock begins to wave his arm around when a jolt of pain from his wrist stops him.   
“Sherlock, you okay?” John spots the swelling and curses under his breath. He hops off the bed as Sherlock lifts his arm to let John inspect it.   
“A sprain. My God Sherlock, I’m sorry.” It looks like John is going to wallow in guilt over this, Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I can pick up a brace for you now. Let’s go.” 

John double checks that it is, indeed, only a sprain and then gets Sherlock into a brace. He gives Sherlock painkillers and a glass of water before turning to see an umbrella. He looks up and locks eyes with Mycroft. He smiles politely and Mycroft narrows his eyes a fraction. John excuses himself quickly and Mycroft walks over to Sherlock.   
“I have a case for you, Sherlock.” Sherlock moves his head from side to side to make up for his hand in the brace and Mycroft glances at it before he looks to John, standing in the doorway, guilty.   
“Sprained wrist, how exactly did that happen?”   
“An accident,” Sherlock answers as John closes his eyes and says “My fault.” This causes Mycroft to lift an eyebrow.   
“I should have known better” Sherlock scolds himself, “waking up an army veteran-” Sherlock stops abruptly as Mycroft’s look. “Oh Mycroft,” Sherlock sneers, “This is not a domestic violence case.”   
“Wait, what?” John asks in the background but Mycroft ignores him and Sherlock continues.   
“He was having a flashback. I shook him.” Mycroft twists his umbrella.   
“Well that was rather stupid,” he cedes. “If I find out-”   
“We’re not a couple.” John insists as Mycroft looks towards him, about to open his mouth and retort.   
“I believe you had a case for me to turn down.” Sherlock breaks Mycroft’s train of thought as he looks back to his brother.   
“Right, then.” 

… 

“In your bed?” Moriarty opens as he hears the phone picked up.   
“Of course,” She sounds smug. “In all of her glory.” There is a soft sigh, “and then some.”   
“Naughty.” Moriarty teases and can tell she smiles. She thinks he’s flirting.   
“I’m afraid I’m the one who gives out the spankings, Mr. Moriarty.” She responds and he rolls his eyes.   
“Spare me.” He deadpans and she laughs as if he’s told a joke. “Now, I have some ideas about where we go from here,” She hums and he finds himself smiling as he outlines their options. 

… 

 

_“No blood today, Doctor.” John feels the impact of something hot and heavy against his back. He screamed. He could almost tell what was damaged and where his internal bleeding was. The swing of his body caused one of the wounds on his chest to rip open and that caused a whimper to escape him. He could feel the blood trickle down his chest. John swallows as he closes his eyes. The man says something John doesn’t understand. John tries to focus on breathing, every breath normally hurt, heaving breaths would be torturous. He opens them as he feels the man pinch the wound close.  
“Try not to scream.” The man instructs as he lifted a red hot metal rod, John’s eyes widen as he brings it closer before burning the wound shut. John doesn’t try very hard. _

John wakes up screaming. He jerks in bed until he gets his bearing and sits up to see Sherlock by the door. He is panting and John figures he must’ve been calling his name. He’s still fully dressed, so it must not be that late. John closes his eyes as Sherlock walks forward. When John opens them, he can only focus on Sherlock’s wrist brace. Sherlock moves it under his coat and John lifts his gaze to meet Sherlock’s eyes. John knows what’s coming, so he tries to brace himself. 

“I’ve tried not to pry,” Sherlock starts and John knows it is true; otherwise it would have already been laid out before him. John drops his eyes. “You’ve been triggered by a kidnapping you were unharmed in. Since you aren’t afraid of danger or death,” that is one way to put it “it had to be situational. You were taken before.” Sherlock glances at the door and John notes its pitch black outside his window. “The incident with the Black Lotus did not affect you afterwards.”   
“Yeah,” John whispers.   
“Your screams aren’t from a bullet,” too quick of a pain, and it’s a rip, surprise, “or a nightmare,” the violence it causes and John’s screams really have only one explanation. “You were tortured for enough of a time that you expected death and for the scars to cover most of your body.” John nods again feeling a tight feeling rise in his chest. The scars were obvious from his dressing habits. 

“Therefore,” Sherlock concludes, “a POW.” The word echoes in his head and John stands and walks downstairs. Sherlock follows. John has had enough of this conversation, but he knows Sherlock has to pry so he lets him.   
“How long?” John doesn’t know, he didn’t sleep much, didn’t have any way to keep track, but he was told it was 16 days.   
“16 days.” He turns the kettle on, needing some tea. Sherlock can tell John doesn’t want to talk about it but he feels his brain gnawing at him. New information!   
“How long before you were shot?”   
“Few days,” John’s voice is tense and so are his shoulders. Sherlock tilts his head.   
“And the leg?” John turns to answer when the leg in question gives out on him. John reaches for a chair and both crash to the ground. Sherlock takes a step forward and hopes Mrs. Hudson doesn’t wake up. John rests his head on the floor as Sherlock picks up the chair. John is trying not to cry and needs a moment. Soon after, John stands up and Sherlock offers him his good hand to get up. John takes it and leans against the counters looking down. He closes his eyes and Sherlock looks away. 

_I will burn you._

“Please, Sherlock, no more questions.” Sherlock wants to ask if he means now or ever because Sherlock has more he wants to ask but he knows he has already asked enough. He nods and turns to make his way to the couch. Sherlock seems to be pouting until John places his mug of tea in front of him. Sherlock stands, realizing it is all okay, and grabs his violin. 

They would survive Moriarty. 

Sherlock watches John as he plays and sees the tension ease out from the other. 

In this moment, he knows he needs to protect John from Moriarty, or else Moriarty will take John and neither of them will be able to recover. 

_I will burn the heart out of you._


	5. Tremors

Sherlock spins slowly as his eyes close. His hands lead the bow back and forth across the violin string. He takes a step back and spins slowly as he went through the notes he penciled in on the paper. He stops as he reaches the end. He doesn’t move the violin as he stares at the paper. The music is smooth; Mrs. Hudson complemented him on it earlier today. _Oh, but it needs a name, something so beautiful needs a name._

He has two ideas for the next bar and so he starts at the top of the page again. He closes his eyes as he plays. He spins slowly again and tries to block out the sound of John’s groan. He takes a step back as there is a sharp exhale of pain upstairs. The next bar isn’t gentle but a harsh and pained movement that builds as John’s dream gets worse. Sometimes the music calms John. He should play louder. 

“No!” John shouts and Sherlock’s eyes widen as his body stills. There is a scream and Sherlock flinches, causing the violin to screech and his wrist to throb. John is up now, sitting and panting on his bed and Sherlock closes his eyes to take in a deep breath. Sherlock spreads the score he was writing out and starts from the beginning letting the music calm him and hopefully calm John as well. He leaves John his space and doesn’t say anything while John starts to make tea. He lets his music offer the comfort he knew his words couldn’t. When John settles in his chair Sherlock turns halfway and John’s eyes move to his wrist. Sherlock’s brace is on the table.   
“It’s fine.” Sherlock offers as he plays louder again. He repeats the harsh and pained movement on the strings to remember the notes. He turns away from John moving the bow and violin down and shakes his head.   
“Keep it.” John speaks up and Sherlock picks up the pencil.   
“Good?” Not frightening?   
“It’s building.” Sherlock fills in the notes as John stands up to get everything ready for the tea. “Good pace, feels like something big is going to happen.” 

It’s what Sherlock is afraid of. 

John doesn’t take the tea upstairs. He sits in his chair and Sherlock continues to compose as the time passes. Soon John moves to the couch and falls asleep but Sherlock keeps playing. He has no cases and cannot think of a better use for his time than to ease the torment that has befallen his closest friend because of him. 

… 

“He’s shell shocked.” Moran breathes as he leans back in his seat; the new position gives him a full view of both entrances to the restaurant. Moriarty brings the glass to his lips and puts it down without taking a drink.   
“Broken?” He sounds disappointed. It was expected but still, Jim had such high hopes for the soldier that Moriarty’s hopes had risen as well.   
“Eh,” Moran stretches it as he shakes his head “bent.” Moran leans forward losing sight of the doorway. “Men like that always come back.”   
“Men like what?” Moriarty prided himself on reading people, but he respected and valued Moran’s views on people, he had an expertise in people twisted in a different way than Moriarty did. Moran shakes his head slowly before shrugging.   
“He’s been through hell and the devil sent him back.” Jim stirs and Moriarty picks up the water to take a sip.   
“How long?” Moran shrugs before leaning back.   
“Few weeks? The nightmares and flashbacks are already receding.” 

… 

John listens to the violin as he sips his tea. He’s putting off sleep to be honest because it has been almost a week without an incident and he doesn’t want to chance it. Sherlock’s piece has been coming along nicely, but it seems that most of the progress isn’t done when he’s sitting beside him. 

“The murderer left a scuff on the right side of the door, meaning left handed.” John nods.   
“But stabbed her with the right hand.” He inputs and Sherlock inhales. “Ambidextrous?” John offers but Sherlock shakes his head and turns to John.   
“Everything points to the killer being left handed.” Sherlock sits on the couch.   
“Accomplice?”   
“No.” Sherlock dismisses the thought with a wave.   
“Okay, let’s go the other way, who are the suspects.”   
“Let’s just forget what we don’t know,” Sherlock says mockingly before letting out a huff. “There are only 6 possible murderers.” He begins as he turns towards John. 

… 

“It’s been a full week without nightmares Seb?” Jim asks.   
“Yes.” Jim smiles, Moriarty frowns.   
“Bring him back to me.” Moriarty says as he hangs up the phone. He’d have a nightmare that night. John Watson would be a mess of tremors that destroyed Sherlock. 

… 

John pulls the last stitch through her eyebrow and ties it off. Bathtub accident. It’s the second time he’s hand to stitch someone up today, the first was a child who cut open her face at a park, and he is thankful his hand isn’t shaking like it was last week. 

He looks up as Sarah pops her head into the doorway. The girl is looking in the mirror at her stitches and he smiles up at Sarah. 

“One more, yeah?” he responds as he places a hand on his patient’s back as she looks up towards him.   
“Actually, I took him, I knew the stitches would take a bit,” She glances at the girl who closes her eye and tilts her face to show off the stitches and John reaches for the medical equipment he’ll have to dispose of. Sarah nods and sends the girl to her family. John turns away and when he turns back he notices Sarah staring at his hands. He flexes his fingers before tidying up the room. She returns her gaze to his back and leans against the doorframe. 

“You didn’t take the time off?” She asks and he shakes his head.   
“Wouldn’t have helped.” He smiles slightly and she nods wondering what Sherlock had gotten him into.   
“You can take the time if you need it.” John looks up and smiles wondering how she could be so perfect before thanking her. She disappears down the hall and he makes his way out. 

… 

“John!” John looks over as the man starts jogging up towards up. John doesn’t recognize him, but he could be from Bart’s or any number of patients so he smiles and extends his hand for the other to shake. The man grins and shakes John’s hand. At the same time John feels a needle enter his neck, but by then it is too late. 

This time, John wakes up in a bed. He’s fully clothed and not missing anything-no, his phone is gone. He sits up and looks around while pursing his lips in confusion. What the hell is going on? He stands and rolls his head, shaking off the last of the sedative in his system. He couldn’t have been out for more than an hour. He opens the door cautiously, but it seems he has been dumped in an ordinary flat. In fact, the only thing out of the ordinary is the consulting criminal siting in the living room. John shakes his head as he notices Moran off to the side, still in all black. He glances down to the crease in his suit, armed then. 

“Much better than the bed in Baker Street I would think.” Jim says conversationally. John is too shocked to reply so he just glances around to see a cage in the corner. At least it’s the entire length of the wall so he’ll have space. He knows it is for him and wishes he stayed in the bed. Ten seconds later and Moran’s gun is held to the middle of his back; a minute later, and John is sitting on the floor of the cage glaring at the other two. Much better than last time, although he is already starting to feel hot.   
“Why am I here?” He asks and isn’t entirely surprised when he doesn’t get an answer. He crosses his arms as he leans against one wall and spots his phone on the table. He wills it to ring, but it doesn’t.   
“What do you want with me?” He didn’t notice before, but Jim is wearing jeans and a red hoodie. That’s different. Moran leaves the room later and John is left to count the cracks on the ceiling as the hours go by. 

Jim is enjoying this. The buzz of Moriarty has faded to the point where he can think again and all of this due to good old Dr. Watson. Moriarty isn’t fighting either, because he thinks this will cause John’s PTSD to flare up and completely envelope him. He wonders if John does something like this for Sherlock. He wonders if he can keep John. It’s enough for today though, he has accomplished what he wants and Sherlock has yet to notice John’s situation. Well, time to return him. He can always take him again later. John is standing as soon as Jim moves, and the criminal notes this with a small smile. Jim leaves and sends Moran in. 

“Make sure he gets home safe Seb.” Moran nods and Jim passes him a small wad of bills. John is standing when Moran walks in; he is not going down without a fight. Whatever they wanted to do with him was not going to happen, not again. Moran opens the cage and tosses the wad towards John at the same time. Instinct takes over John as he reaches out to catch the bills. He glances at them quickly before looking back to Moran. 

“Moriarty said you wouldn’t trust our cars to take you back so that’s for a cab,” Moran notes John is expectantly skeptical and takes four steps backwards. John pockets the money, way too much for a cab, before stepping out of the cage, angling towards the door. Moran lifts his hands in surrender.   
“I’m serious, you’re free to go.” 

John runs. 

… 

“Sherlock?” John calls as he runs up the stairs to the flat. “Sherlock!” He opens the door to see Sherlock lying on the couch. “I’ve just been kidnapped.” Sherlock shakes his head at that.   
“Nonsense, you’re right here.” Sherlock notices it’s dark. He looks to John then, reads the day in his appearance and stands. 

“Oh.” Interesting. 

The next morning, 4AM to be exact, Sherlock plays the new composition as John jerks up in bed because that’s the only way John allows himself to be comforted.


	6. Triggers

At 6AM the doorbell rings and Sherlock double checks no one is immediately outside before opening the door to see a box. He brings it inside and inspects it, leaning over the table to do so. It’s for John, the feminine handwriting from the envelope spells out his name in cursive. The handwriting is familiar. Moriarty. Sherlock stands fully and glances in the direction John is sleeping. He shifts before turning back to the package and opening it. 

John’s phone is inside. Sherlock lifts it as it beeps twice, the signal for a low battery. He sits as he opens the new messages. 

_Thought I’d return this_

_See you again soon_

Sherlock hits delete as he remembers John jerking in bed. He makes his way up the stairs quietly and pushes open the door to John’s room gently. When he spots the pile of clothes and possessions in the corner he buries the phone with them. Sherlock stares at the pile longer than he needs to; the one spot of chaos here tells Sherlock more than John ever would. 

He wants to apologize, but he’s not sorry. He’s not sorry Moriarty is involved because it’s made his life interesting. He’s not sorry John is involved because John has given him purpose. He is sorry Moriarty hurt John, but that is purely a circumstance of the first two situations he would not trade. He is not sorry it’s not him, because his self-perseverance wouldn’t allow it. John would die for Sherlock, he’s already offered, but Sherlock doesn’t think he is at that level. 

He is sorry that this is still happening. He is sorry John has had to suffer this much. 

… 

Moriarty shifts as he listens to the others plea, not because he was uncomfortable but because he knew it would make the other nervous. It was well known that Moriarty would not help human traffickers with that, but this man wanted help smuggling drugs. He was a trafficker though, and Moriarty could feel Jim’s displeasure like a burning in his veins. The man finishes his practiced speech with a smile and Moriarty’s guard tilted his head in curiosity. 

“You know I don’t help your kind.” Moriarty speaks as he uncrosses his legs. “The defenseless? How boring.”   
“I’m not asking for help with that.”   
“No,” he cedes. “You seem to have all of that under control.” He drags out the last part as he moves his head.   
“You know what, I don’t need this.” The man stands and Moriarty follows him with his eyes. “I just need help with the drugs and if you don’t want to help me I’ll leave.” 

Jim is furious and Moriarty looks away as he tries to control the sudden surge of strength from the other. It’s been happening more often recently, way too often for Moriarty’s liking. The thoughts were shockingly violent. The man let out a relieved sigh,   
“That’s it? Are you thinking about how to help me?”   
“No,” Jim screams it but it comes out as a low but held word. “I’m thinking about how to hurt you.” Jim says calmly before tilting his head. The trafficker pales because he’s seen crazy people, but this man seems to have lost his psychotic edge all of a sudden, and the one talking about hurting him seems to be a calm reasonable man. He takes two steps back before running and miraculously isn’t stopped and killed. He’ll disband that ring first thing tomorrow, if he lived that long. 

Moriarty takes _his_ body back as the guard is looking away and growls out. He stands roughly and walks out of the room, knocking over a table as he does so. What is happening to him? To this? He feels that Jim has gotten quiet again and narrows his eyes. What has changed so drastically? 

“John Watson.” He growls out as he continues walking and Moran tilts his head.   
“Get him, when?”   
“Yesterday.” Moriarty gets in the car and Moran nods. It’s only been a few days since he kidnapped Watson but he wasn’t one to question orders. 

Apparently Jim found a reason to fight, or strength, or both, and apparently it was Johnny boy. 

… 

Sherlock says nothing when John comes down the stairs the next day, but he notices that his phone and keys are on his person. John starts the kettle and Sherlock remains silent. The box from Moriarty had been destroyed and taken far from here already so John would find no evidence of that. John doesn’t say anything to him either, not even when he puts the second teacup in front of him. Sherlock drinks it slowly, before vanishing into his mind palace. John is typing away on his laptop. 

“East.” Sherlock says before jerking slightly. “John, I know who the killer is!” Sherlock stands before looking around. “John?” He frowns before he hears the toilet flush and the water ruing from the faucet. He turns towards the hallway and John smiles.   
“Back, ey?” John turns towards the couch before Sherlock stops him.   
“I know who did it.”   
“So should I phone Lestrade?” John asks with a small smile that caused one to form on Sherlock’s face.   
“There isn’t time to phone the police!” he exclaims before turning towards the door.   
“You better get dressed quickly then, otherwise I’ll catch them without you.” John says and Sherlock pauses to stare at John. John’s smile gets slightly smaller and Sherlock takes a breath.   
“You were making a joke.” Sherlock states before turning and heading into his room. John shakes his head.   
“Will I need my gun?” John takes the silence as a yes. 

… 

John wakes up in bed, but it’s not his, and he groans as he realizes that. He looks around; confused, groggily, stumbling. He’s been drugged for sure and is back at Moriarty’s. He can’t remember what happened. He needs to pee, so he finds a bathroom before walking down the main hall into the room. His phone is gone and he feels like his gun is missing too. Why would he have had his gun on him? Oh God, Sherlock. He uses the wall to prop himself as he notices he is alone in the apartment. 

Moriarty storms in less than a minute later. John takes a step forward   
“What happened to Sherlock?” He demands but Moriarty doesn’t answer. The only thing he is aware of in anger. Moriarty pushes him back. John has been Jim’s strength. _How dare Johnny boy be anything!!_ John hits the wall and Moriarty wraps a hand around John’s throat. Jim’s protesting. Jim always protests Moriarty using violence. John tries to bat it away but he’s as dangerous as a kitten right now. He has no strength and Moriarty seems very ready to take advantage of that, except he can feel his hold weakening.   
“What are you doing to me?” Moriarty yells even as he hears Jim’s laugh in his head. Destruction. John narrows his eyes as he grabs Moriarty’s wrist but he still can’t move it off.   
“What?” John can’t believe this. John wasn’t doing anything. “You nutter!” He’s not even a willing participant in these visits! “What are you doing to me, and for that matter, why am I here?” John shouts it back and wonders if this is the straw that will get him killed. 

John and Moriarty stare at each other for a few moments, both of them unmoving, but John watches as a transformation-because there is no other word for it- occurs. The hand on his throat pulls back as the lines on Moriarty’s face seem to become softer. John takes a risk in pulling down at the wrist and it comes down willingly. It’s slow and strangely intimate, John thinks, a completely different person. He blinks a few times to try to get the dizziness to go away. Jim lowers his head slightly. 

“Mr. Moriarty,” John starts and Jim looks up again.   
“Jim.” He corrects as he pulls his hand back from John’s grip.   
“Jim,” John restarts and Jim takes a step back. It feels like John can breathe again. “Where is Sherlock? Why am I here?” There is a soft tug at the corners of Jim’s lips.   
“He’s safe; safer than you are. To bother Sherlock of course.” He answers and John has the urge to yell ‘lair’ but he doesn’t. Jim takes a step back before retreating to the other side of the table. John leans against the wall and watches Jim loosen his tie and unbutton the first button on his shirt.   
“I’m sorry.” John barely hears it but his eyes widen and his jaw drops a bit as he braves standing on his own again.   
“What?” because he had to have heard wrong.   
“I said sorry, that was,” he tilts his head back and forth, “uncalled for.” Jim says it so calmly and sincerely that John can’t help but to get angry and start an overlapping argument.   
“Oh, but wrapping me up in semtex-”   
“-necessary-”   
“and kidnapping me-”   
“-once again necessary-”   
“all three times-necessary?” John pauses as Jim’s words sink in. “How is this,” and he gestures around, which he shouldn’t have because his legs almost give out, “necessary for anything?”   
“I told you,” Jim hisses and John shakes his head, “It’s for Sherlock.”   
“Bullshit.” John spits. Jim opens his mouth in mock appall “Except for this time, I am never gone long enough for Sherlock to notice. You aren’t using me as bait or a prize in your, whatever it is.” John finishes lamely. Jim watches and knows that’s not quite it. He can feel Moriarty clawing at him from inside but the longer John is here the more Jim is reminded of John standing up to Moriarty and the more he feels like he can too.   
“And?” he prompts and John looks away before resting his hands on the other side of the table for balance.   
“You didn’t have to be a trigger.” John’s voice is soft and Jim knows that’s not true. All dangerous weapons have triggers and you need to apply force to test them.   
“Necessary.” Jim stresses the syllables, the argument and Moriarty making him irritable. Jim tries to silence the other and temporarily succeeds.   
“Why?” Jim wonders what Sherlock does to John that he is so resigned about things like this.   
“A test.”   
“A test!” Not anger yet, but definite annoyance. He’s been tested on before, by Sherlock no doubt. Yes, a test. Moriarty wanted to see just what John was made of. John snorts in disbelief. “A bloody test,” and there is the anger. “Did I pass?” That’s an odd question to ask. Moriarty thought John proved himself interesting so yes. Jim, however, was testing something else. Is John Watson strong enough to survive Moriarty; he wasn’t.   
“No.” Jim answers. John had nightmares, he harmed Sherlock. He let Jim and Moriarty live. “You failed.” He says softly. John wasn’t strong enough. “You failed.” He repeats firmly, sounding disappointed. John just shakes his head. 

“So why am I here?” John asks and Jim thinks it’s because, maybe, they could be strong enough together.   
“You’re interesting,” Jim’s says instead as John purses his lips in confusion.   
“Me?” John takes a step back before shaking his head letting out a laugh and coming back to the table. “Why me?” 

John changed the plan. 

“I wanted a live in one,” Jim lies, “to try and figure out why Sherlock keeps you around.” John laughs and Jim is startled because it’s like Moriarty’s laugh. It was dark and knowing and not at all joyous. Jim can feel himself stiffen as Moriarty stirs.   
“Next time you try to lie to me, try harder.” John turns and walks away before sitting on the couch across from the cage. Moriarty’s interest peaks as they both watch him. Jim feels a rush going everywhere but his head. 

_This is why you pull the trigger._


	7. Moriarty

_Earlier_

John holds out his arm to stop Sherlock, and only brings it back down after the other has bumped into it and halted. Sherlock starts scanning the surrounding area but he’s not looking up so he doesn’t catch what John has. There is a man on the roof with a rifle and he doesn’t look like he’s alone. Sherlock has already figured out how this killing is related to a local gang and an international operation, so John hasn’t been taking chances. 

“Our killer went down to the river, let Lestrade’s men get him.” John says lowly and Sherlock narrows his eyes as they narrow in on John.   
“What? Why?” John lets out a small breath as his eyes find Sherlock’s.   
“There’s a shooter on the roof.” John pulls on Sherlock’s coat and is grateful when Sherlock comes without resistance. They wait the few seconds it takes for Sherlock to text Lestrade before going up to the building. 

Moments like these remind Sherlock of just how dangerous John Watson can be. It reminds him of the army and how terrifying John must have looked with a rifle and uniform because he already looks lethal in a cream jumper. Sherlock lets John lead the way and scout the roof before putting the other in a chokehold that knocked him out quickly and quietly. Sherlock takes the handgun out of John’s waistband while he’s bending down to lower the other and John only spares him a curious look.   
“I know how to shoot a handgun, John, not a rifle.” John only nods and takes the rifle from the other, briefly glancing down the scope and checking the ammo, and if Sherlock imagined that John did it in his army uniform, then it was a secret he’d keep.   
“This is a far place to have a guard; there may be more as we get closer to the boat.” Sherlock has already figured out three possible security configurations. “Stay with me, Sherlock.” John’s voice is low and serious and to Sherlock’s credit, they stay together until the very end, where Sherlock dashes after the murderer. John leaves the rifle with Lestrade and when John chases Sherlock he mistakenly turns a street early and the alley doesn’t contain the fighting pair but Moriarty’s men. 

_Present_

“The men that took you must have been the same ones that knocked me out and deposited me here.” Sherlock concludes as John wraps his hands around his tea. Sherlock has a bruise on his forehead and nose, so John knows that he was knocked out with the butt of a gun. “How did you sleep?”   
“Well,” John said truthfully. “Best I’ve had in months.”   
“What did Moriarty want?” John notices the edge in Sherlock’s voice and sighs.   
“I don’t know. He threatened me, apologized-”   
“For threatening you?” Sherlock sounds skeptical.   
“No,” John pauses and Sherlock scans his body, noticing the faint bruising.   
“For choking you,”   
“Yeah, he said he was doing this because of you, to try and figure out why you keep me around.” Sherlock tilts his head as John picks up Sherlock’s right arm. He slides the braces off and Sherlock winces as John uses his fingers to check the swelling. “Honestly Sherlock, the recoil of a gun is not the best way to heal a sprain.” Sherlock waves his left hand about as John makes him a bag of ice to put on it.   
“There’s something else, something you’re not telling me.” John rubs his face before nodding.   
“Yeah,” John looked up from the ice to Sherlock. “He was lying.” Sherlock had nothing to say to that, so he let John stand up and push his chair in in silence. He didn’t move as John retreated up the stairs, not even when he heard John’s door close. 

Sherlock’s wrist throbs as he plays the violin at four in the morning that night, but he is the only one who hears it. 

It’s the same the night after. 

… 

“Nothing?”   
“Nope. He’s sleeping like a child.” Moran crosses his legs on the table and Moriarty growls out.   
“Bring him back.” He demands as his hands clench into fists.   
“What do you want with him?” Moran asks as he drops his legs and surges forward.   
“I’m going to break him.” 

… 

It’s the last patient of the day, and for his part, John wants nothing more than some Thai food in front of the telly. Sherlock might even eat today: they haven’t got a case on and today looks empty so far. John is paging through the patient files when he walks into the room, briefly glancing at the man on the seat before turning to close the door. 

“So what seems to be the prob-” John’s voice cuts out as he feels the dart break the skin on his neck. There is a hand over his mouth before he can yell out and David holds him until he is sure John is out from the count. John isn’t a light man, especially for his size, but he’s easy to carry. 

“John?” Sarah calls out as she rubs her forehead. There is a slew of last minute patients and she hopes he can stay overtime again, since he hasn’t dashed out yet he probably can. “John?” The door opens as she knocks on it and she frowns. He hardly leaves without saying goodbye, even when Sherlock’s got one of his cases. His paperwork is still on his desk which is odd because he’s meticulous about that, good part about army doctor she supposes. She takes a few steps forward before looking around the room but nothing seems out of place. She dials him but gets his voicemail twice. 

“Hey, John, it’s Sarah. Give me a ring when you can.” 

She hangs up before tapping the phone against her palm and furrowing her brows. She looks back to the line of patients and with a sigh she walks back over making a mental note to stop by Baker Street on her way home. 

… 

It’s warm and stuffy. John wakes up with a gag in his mouth and his arms tied above his head. For a split second John is worried that the past years have been a dream and he never made it out, but he knows that’s not true. Even so, he can’t stop the rush of panic that flares up. John groans as he tugs on his bounds before looking around to see Moran sitting cross legged on a chair in front of him. 

This isn’t like any of the other times the criminal has taken him. John pulls until his wrists burn. This is like Kandahar. He can feel the panic building. He knows he’s in for pain today. 

_A doctor who kills._

His arm starts to hurt and his leg throbs. He starts to whisper in Pashto and Moran simply watches him lose himself. Moriarty had given explicit instructions. Find a dark secluded place, turn the heat on and tie him up by his arms, retie his shoelaces so that they were tight, then sit and watch. His shirt was to be left on. No injections. No weapons other than a knife and blunt piece of wood. This isn’t about the physical so much as the mental. Moran listens to the whispers and recognizes the language. He doesn’t speak it, but he knows its Pashto. It takes John about five minutes before he stops muttering the same two phrases over and over again, more specifically it takes the creaking of the door behind him opening. 

John’s mind seems to focus on the creaking door and he feels like he can breathe again. He focuses on staring at Moran, John bites down on the gag to remind himself it’s different. He’s not back there again and he never will be. He glares at Moran as he tries to get his breathing to return to normal. 

Now it’s about the physical. John hears the footsteps of another person coming up behind him. His hands grip the rope because he just knows what’s coming and he hopes that Sherlock notices the deviation in his schedule. He prays that Mycroft has noticed something odd. The two of them have the uncanny ability to annoy him like that, so please, let them come through for him. Moran doesn’t move and John stares because he wants to see whatever sign Moran is going to send to the other. He lets out a breath and sees the tiny nod Moran sends. 

He grits his teeth as the pain ignites from his lower back and sends him forward. The other hits don’t hurt as much. He lets out another breath as Moran stands and punches him twice. Winded, John can’t help the breathless cry that comes out when he is hit again from behind. There are two punches to his head and John can tell this won’t end well. He can feel other blows, but nothing hurts in the fog he’s been enveloped in. Moran’s hand wraps around John’s throat next and John knows this isn’t the end. Moriarty would want to be there; he’d want Sherlock to see. John struggles but he can’t move, he can’t move. John feels the deeper fog enter his brain and curses, maybe this is it. 

_If you were dying, if you were murdered, in the very last seconds, what would you say?_

I’m sorry, Sherlock, you daft bastard. 

I hope you don’t find me. 

… 

“Sarah,” Sherlock stands with a flourish as she bites her lip. “He’s not here.” Sherlock is running out the door when Mycroft answers on the second ring.   
“Don’t be so stupid.” Sherlock responds before getting into a cab. He is surprised when Sarah pushes him over and climbs in.   
“Drive!” she tells the driver and he does. Sherlock gives him an address less than a minute later. 

… 

John doesn’t move when he wakes up. Groans and movements would give it away to whoever was here and he had no desire to relieve that. He listens for any type of movement as he gathers his bearings. He’s on the floor somewhere but that’s all he knows, that and he’s got a headache fitting a migraine. 

“I know you’re awake, Johnny boy,” Moriarty says and John doesn’t move because there is so much pain and every word is a throb in his head. “Look at me now,” he says in a softer voice and John does, pushing himself up slowly to see he’s back in that dreadful cage. Moriarty watches John move around until finally he’s looking at him. 

“Do you know what today was about?” He asks and John just groans. 

_Punishment._ Jim answers and Moriarty smiles in response. 

“No,” John leans against the bars. “I’m not seeking you out, you keep getting me.” Jim feels cold and Moriarty lets out a laugh.   
“Want me to stop?”   
“Yes!” He closes his eyes, “stop whatever this is.” Jim is shaking.   
“Do you know what I can do to you?” They watch the tears fall from John’s eyes, Moriarty knows John doesn’t know it’s there, then again, given the bumps on his head, Moriarty doubts he can tell much of anything.   
“Can’t imagine there’s much you can’t.”   
“Instead of bruising your back I could have stabbed it and left you unable to run with dear Sherlock.” John stills and fights to take deep breaths. “Hit you hard enough in the head to make you useless to him.” John’s hands tighten on the bars. “Cut off your hands and feet; Sherlock wouldn’t take well to a cripple.”   
“You want me to leave him?” John’s voice is pained but it doesn’t sound like he’s giving up. Moriarty doesn’t speak again for a long time, just watches John struggle. His injuries won’t kill him if he can get out of here. 

John is flitting in and out of consciousness when he hears the sound of metal clattering next to him. It’s a sharp piece of metal he could use as a lock-pick. He reaches for it and Moriarty’s steps on it. John looks up, his fingers centimeters from the shoe.   
“I can end you, and I may just yet. You’d do well to remember that.” He sends the pick closer to John. “Get out if you can.”


	8. Found

_I’ve got your pet._

Sarah watches Sherlock growl as he hits the seat in front of him. The cab driver looks over as the text alert goes off again and she leans over to read it. 

_If you go looking for him I will put a bullet in his heart._

“Stop.” Sherlock bites out and the cab driver pulls over to the side of the road.   
“Why are we stopping?” She shakes her head. “Oh, no. I’m not giving up on John.” She may be seconds away from shaking, but John is in danger.   
“Shut up.” He grabs his head and she bites her lip in anger. 

_Run along to 221B. I’ll be waiting for you._

“He’s going to be waiting for me, but he doesn’t know about you.” Sherlock opens the door. “I can’t help John,” Sarah would be dead if he had said that last time. Or was it even last time? How often does this happen? Sarah looks away and then back to him but the pain in his voice takes her anger away. “Find him.”   
“Okay” She responds as he closes the door and starts walking away. “Let’s go.” She says to the driver as she leans back, “and please step on it.”   
“I’ve always wanted to be one of the good guys.” He remarks as they speed up. “Who’s John?” She doesn’t tell him at first, but after a few minutes of agonizing silence and no answer from John, she sighs.   
“One of the greatest men I hope you’ll have the pleasure of meeting.” She dials again.   
“We’ll get him.” The driver is so sure she smiles a little and decides to share a little more. 

… 

John listens to his phone ring out again as he works the lock. Working the lock is a generous term for it, he thinks, as its really just jamming the rod in and hoping that this time it works and that the cuts on his hands aren’t getting any deeper. Despite the growing amount of blood leaving his body, since earlier, he knows he’s okay. He can lose 2 without much problem, and it isn’t until he loses 3 pints that he really has to worry about it. Still, he doesn’t like the sight. 

He leans his head on the bars as he focuses on breathing. This is a result of the concussion, not bleeding, but he’s starting to think he might not make it out of here. It takes a minute of focusing to make sure he doesn’t faint, and that minute feels much longer. 

He’s not doing to die here, in Moriarty’s bloody flat cage. He groans as he shifts again and starts working the lock. He’s going to punch that tosser in the face next time he sees him. 

… 

“I beat you.” Moriarty says as he leans back in the chair. “I beat you the second you believed John was me.” Sherlock scoffs, “You did.” Moriarty insists. “So where would you have shot him?”   
“I wouldn’t have.” Moriarty pretends to inspect his nails.   
“You would have killed the good doctor with his own weapon.” Sherlock doesn’t affirm or deny it. He doesn’t need to. “Where would you have stashed the body? Would you have given it to Lestrade? That would have been an interesting conversation.” Sherlock hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Donavan would have arrested you in a second.” Sherlock still doesn’t respond.

“John’s a little different.” Sherlock glances over to the skull and then back to Moriarty. “I could drag your name through the mud, turn all of England against you and still, still John would be there.” Sherlock finds that comforting, especially considering that he spends days wondering how he will ruin this friendship. “I could make you tell him yourself as you plummeted off a building, and still, John would defend you.” The annoyance in Moriarty’s tone lets Sherlock know how long he had spent thinking about it. “I could take you away for years but then the life would come back to him as you did.” 

Ridiculous. John doesn’t care about him that much. He’d move on to a boring little life with a wife and child, put on some weight, and switch to working for a hospital. 

“How do I beat John, then?” Sherlock doesn’t answer and Moriarty grins. What if John would truly wait for him? “Quite the puzzle isn’t it?” Sherlock’s eyes follow him as he stands. Moriarty glances at his bare wrist as if there was a watch. “Our pretty little doctor should have Johnny boy by now.” He walks towards the door and Sherlock glances at his phone-no new messages-before he turns back to Sherlock. 

“You can’t stop me from playing with John until I beat him, but you are more than welcome to try.” With that he’s gone. 

… 

“Should I wait here or call an ambulance?” He asks as he pulls up to the door.   
“Stay for a bit.” She sprints to the door and opens it, freezing at the entrance. The staircase in front of her looks no more appealing a direction than the stretch of hallway next to her sides. She looks from left to right hoping for a sign but ends up choosing to go right. One of the doors behind her slams open and she spins to look at it. 

“Sarah!” John sounds so relieved to see her. He’s leaning on the door, the blood on his hands isn’t dripping, but it’s drying along his arm meaning it was bleeding worse before. He looks terrible, but she can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. She runs up to him as he attempts to move forward. He is falling to his knees by the time she reaches him and she drops to hers, her hand reaching for his wrist to take his pulse as the other grabs his arm to keep him steady. 

She is distracted of course, by the lips that cover her own a second later. She closes her eyes briefly as she kisses him back, but the fact that his hands are so warm reminds her of the fact that he is bleeding, and more than a little not okay. She pulls back and up and he leans on her with hazy eyes. Concussion. 

“You get hit in the head?” He struggles on the word multiple and she grimaces.   
“A lot.”   
“Weapons?” She starts looking for stab wounds and he groans. They turn to the main door to see the cabbie running towards them and Sarah’s arm sing relief as he takes John. “Watch the internal bleeding!” She shouts as she makes her way to the cab.   
“Open the back.” He instructs and she does to see that the seats are down.   
“Come on Dr. Watson,” the cabbie says and Sarah is hit with the fact that she doesn’t know his name.   
“Flat on his back,” she instructs as she climbs in. She looks for something to prop his head with but ends up putting his head in her lap.   
“Hospital next.” He voices as he reaches up to grab the back door.   
“Sarah.” She blurts as John’s hand grabs here. He smiles.   
“Aaron.” She watches the door shut and pulls up her phone.   
“How did you know I was here?” John’s head starts to roll so Sarah grabs it with the hand that was holding his. 

“This is Dr. Sawyer and I’m going to need you to prep for a patient coming in-No I don’t need an ambulance, I’m in route. No. No. You’re not listening.” She lets out an angry huff. “I’ve got a war vet from Afghanistan staining my shirt with his blood.” John watches her mouth tilt up in an angry smile. “Unless you want to be responsible for his death,” the cabbie looks concerned but John rolls his eyes. He then taps Sarah’s knee to tell her something but is crushed by a wave of blackness. 

It might have been that. 

… 

“Watch the door.” Sarah instructs and Sherlock raises an eyebrow but stands by the door so that no one can open it without knocking him over. He watches her walk over to the clipboards and lift them. She frowns as she flips the page and Sherlock glances at John’s sleeping form before looking back to her. She discarded her long sleeve shirt when she got here, not wanting to be in a blood stained shirt, although it was hard to get the staff to take her seriously in her A shirt and jeans combination. She nods her head then places a hand on one of the machines as she reads it. 

“There are other doctors here.” He points out, hoping to read her intentions through her reactions.   
“Other people are idiots.” She smiles at him before crossing her arms. “Although I suppose we all are, to the right person.” She had been the most tolerable of him, when compared to the rest of John’s girlfriends. 

Sherlock doesn’t misjudge people often but he’s glad that Sarah has gotten a second chance, even if she’s avoid looking at John’s face, likely to take the personalization out of-oh. John kissed her-had to be John, she wouldn’t take advantage of him like that. She is wondering if this is unresolved feelings or the result of the concussion. 

“It’s not because of the concussion.” She turns around and stands stiffly as she faces him.   
“What?” Sherlock is able to more clearly read her now, after the shock. He smirks before flattening his lips.   
“You kissed, well rather he kissed you.” Her lips flatten but she stands her ground. “You still have feelings for him.” She looks away before back to him. Confirmed. Suddenly Sherlock remembers why he didn’t like her; she wanted John to be safe at home with her. She thought that Sherlock wasn’t the best influence. She wants John back, but she wants this to stop and suddenly she’s wondering if he could ever love her enough to stop. She can’t handle excitement on a regular basis, it is one of the reasons she quit working at the hospital. Sherlock forgoes the rest of his deduction, she wouldn’t appreciate it. “He hasn’t changed.” She closes her eyes and crossed her arms. “I know.”   
“He won’t.” John will always need Sherlock. She opens her mouth to retort when she pauses to turn to John. She walks over to the machine and places her hand on the monitor. Sherlock approaches the bed as Sarah presses the nurse button. He looks to the monitors to see the change she had but is distracted by John stirring. 

John opens his eyes and lets them frantically search the hospital room until they focus on Sarah squeezing his hand. She’s smiling and he finds himself smiling back.   
“Can you sit up for me, John?” John nods once before groaning at the pain that brings him. “Hey, hey,” he focuses on her voice. “We are going to sit up now and make sure there’s no damage.” Sherlock moves forward to help and proudly notes the smile he gets from John is bigger than the one she does. 

. 

“Sarah’s asked me to coffee, when I’m up to it” John announces and Sherlock pauses in his action to stare at John, who laughs. “I know, I know, you really don’t care.” John shifts.   
“It’s a direct result of you kissing her.” John’s eyes widen. “Right when she found you, apparently.” Sherlock finds some joy in John’s distress. “A proper hero’s reward.” He smiles and John shakes his head.   
“I kissed her.” John pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand. He sighs and then he starts giggling. Sherlock narrows his eyebrows. John looks to his phone again and the smile dies on his face. 

“I’m going to bed.” John places the phone face down and walks away. Sherlock looks between John’s retreating back and the phone before walking over to it and picking it up. 

_If the hero gets a kiss, surely the villain gets something too. After all, every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain. -M_

Sherlock listens, but John doesn’t have a nightmare. Today he was the victor and there was nothing to be afraid of. Sherlock plays the violin anyway; he needs to still his trembling fingers. Moriarty has his sights set on John and Sherlock is equally terrified of John leaving him and dying. He ends up working on his composition and the longing to help John throws this piece into a new level for Sherlock. 

… 

_John won’t fall to you._

“It’s a matter of time.” Moriarty mutters as he loosens his tie. “Losing the flat today was a small price to pay for the outcome.” 

_Won’t work._

Moriarty shakes his head as if to dispel the voice. He takes off his jacket before his undershirt. “Every time you see him he’ll remember what I’ve done and he’ll never feel safe with you.” Moriarty unbuckles his belt. “Looks like I’ve beaten you, dear.” 

_No._

“You fall when he does.” Moriarty smirks as he walks to the bedroom door in black boxer briefs. “It’s simple.” 

_If_


	9. Punch Me

Two weeks later, John notices that he’s being followed on his way home from work. 

He debates making a run for it, but there is no guarantee that Sherlock will be both home and of use. There’s also the fact that he really shouldn’t exert himself, he’s still in recovery from his concussion. John continues walking, is he in any condition to fight the grunts sent after him? He can’t afford to be captured like that again. He takes his hand out of his pocket and tries to clench it, but the pain from the pulling wound stops him. His options are very limited, but he really can’t be taken. John stops walking and when the other approaches him slowly he turns to face him and sighs. 

“Are you working for Moriarty?” John thinks it’s ridiculous that the level of violence he will use will depend on whether this man wants to kill him because of Sherlock, or kidnap him for Moriarty. The man’s face gives away that he does work for Moriarty and the shock is enough to buy John the time to break his nose with his weak hand. John watches the man fall to his knees and groan as he holds his nose in his hands. He feels mildly satisfied at that and turns. 

These men never work alone and so John is ready for the second to approach him. John looks around but only sees a woman watching in shock. He looks back to the one on the floor before taking a few steps forward. There is an alleyway and John leans back in time to avoid the man running out for him. John ducks and feels a wave a nausea run through him. He blocks a blow and starts to feel dizzy. The other tells he has some type of advantage and takes a step forward for another punch but John catches it. 

“Stop.” John can’t figure out why he was giving this one a chance to run away but he supposes he should have given the other one the same choice. The other twists his lip and tried to jerk his arm back. John lets it go and takes a step back to give the other space to retreat. The next punch is swept to the side and John brings in his fist like a hammer to the man’s arm. The shock from the broken bone brings a curse from the second but John just shoves him back. He moves to take a step forward, except he’s going sideways. He closes his eyes as he uses the window next to him for balance. The store owner is yelling about something and dialing the police and so John does his best to gather himself quickly. He considers sending them a message for Moriarty’s, but that would only further fuel him so he just walks away from the two of them. If there’s a smirk on his face it’s simply because he can’t help it. 

Not today. 

… 

Sherlock looks up from his book and lets out a small huff when John walks in the door and John smiles as he hangs up his coat. Sherlock closes the book as John closes the door. John smiles as he looks to Sherlock, who is watching him intently. 

“You just broke a man’s nose and arm and are practically skipping down the street.” He waits half a second for a denial but John has none. “I’m beginning to think even I’m not enough for you.” John barely refrains from giggling at Sherlock’s jab.   
“It was two different men.” He finally corrects and Sherlock opens the book back up with a smile of his own.   
“Well, there is always something.” Sherlock dismisses it and John heads into the kitchen. Sherlock looks away from the book and watches John wash the blood off of his knuckles. He knows John wouldn’t use such means unless Moriarty was involved so Moriarty will probably strike again. It shouldn’t be physical, Moriarty wants to beat John, but not _beat_ him. Sherlock watches for signs of the concussion other than when John grabbed the doorframe after coming up the stairs 

“Tea?” John asks suddenly and Sherlock looks to the book to avoid John’s now wandering gaze.   
“None for me.” He says, which somehow has come to mean just a cuppa. When John sets it in front of him, he notices the blood pattern on John’s shirt and realizes that he used his weak hand because of the injury. Sherlock smiles. John is a force to be reckoned with and he’s on Sherlock’s side. 

… 

A month after that John doesn’t notice that the girl chatting him up is too interested. 

She’s interested enough to slip something in his drink, but he doesn’t watch his drink like a girl would, because who would drug a guy? The people who see it don’t say anything, because surely it’s harmless? She’s harmless, and he’s a built man, not a victim. 

When he does notice, she’s coming onto to him and the others think he’s shy. She pouts as she pulls him from the bar and suddenly the other patrons are pushing him to go with her and telling him how lucky he is. His whispers, because that’s all the noise he can make at the moment, are shushed as the others tell him to suck it up and go have a good time. She gets him outside and there is a black car waiting to take him to Moriarty. He can’t move anymore, he feels so heavy and he’s crushed under her bubbly laugh. 

Suddenly there is a heavy push towards the car and he’s screaming for help to people who think he’s lucky to be getting in the car with a woman like that. 

He suddenly understands the plight of the woman he watched Sherlock shoo away last summer. 

… 

Jim hears the growl rip from John’s throat as he wakes up. It’s a sexy growl, but Jim is smiling simply because John fell for the oldest trick in the book. You don’t take out the strongest warriors through force, you do it with a woman, or a man, Jim’s learned that people have all sorts of preferences. 

“What’s to stop me?” John says as he finds the kitchen and walks up to the table and Jim looks up at him. He smiles as he crosses his legs at the knee. John continues. “What’s to stop me from killing you right now?” Jim grins as he looks up into John’s eyes. _So stormy._  
“Well, Dr. Watson, that would be Sebastian Moran,” John blinks and Jim sings songs the next part “my own little soldier boy.” John pauses in his forward motion before closing his eyes and letting his fists rest on the table he is barely leaning over.   
“The open window.” Jim looks mildly impressed.   
“Hmm, not as dull as you look, are you?” John pauses, why was Moriarty sending such mixed signals? He seems to be sane today. John turns a full 180 on his heel and walks away leaving Jim to watch him. Jim sits up straighter, concern on his face.   
“Wait! Where are you going?” John shakes his head not wanting to think about this insanity.   
“This bloody flat should have a kitchen somewhere, yes?” Jim nods slowly, knowing John can’t see him. John continues as if he had. “I’m going to go make a cuppa.” Jim laughs and from the kitchen John shakes his head as he searches for a mug. 

Jim is on the phone when John walks out. The kitchen is very sparse and he barely found tea bags let alone a mix he liked. “Yes, he is safe.” He mouths his displeasure as Mycroft speaks. Sometimes John swears he deals with children instead of the consulting pair of them. “He’s having a cup of tea as we speak.” John looks down at it. “I assure you that will end badly.” Jim’s mouth falls into a flat line. “Fine. _Fine._ Don’t make threats you can’t possibly keep Mycroft.” Yes. Children. “As soon as he finishes his cup.” He hangs up the phone and places it on the table before taking John’s out of his coat pocket and placing it next to it.   
“Mycroft is whining. Looks like Mummy wants you back.” Jim rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh. “No rush.” His gaze travels across the flat. “Finish your tea.” John shakes his head as he places the cup on the table and picks up his phone. The wound on his hand healed with barely a scar. He has no desire to stay here with the homicidal maniac and his sniper. Jim feels the stirring inside of him. 

_See?_

Jim suddenly doesn’t want there to be a Mycroft or Sherlock John can go back to. 

_I can do that._

“I’m really fine.” Jim blinks as John pockets the phone. “I take mine with milk anyway.” Jim watches John leave and reaches for the cup himself. Milk. Okay. He brings it to his lips before placing it back down. He smiles briefly. John makes a really good cup of tea. 

Jim’s head flies forward and he barely catches it in his hand. “Stop.” He closes his eyes tightly as he feels Moriarty trying to push through. “No.” No. Not today, not now. He pictures John’s determined face and grits his teeth as his fingers clench against his scalp. His hands move towards the back of his head as his forehead hits the table and he grits his teeth. 

When Moriarty lifts his head away from the table and lowers his hands he realizes he has a pulsing migraine and sweeps his hand across the table sending the teacup flying. The shattering pierces his brain like needles and he fights not to let out a whimper. 

… 

“Who are you?” John takes a step back at the man waiting for him by the door.   
“You can call me Maraino.” He says in reply and smiles and John watches the wrinkles move so that his whole face is smiling “and you can follow me.” John takes a few steps after him and glances back.   
“Maraino? Is that your real name?” The man stops suddenly, but doesn’t turn to face him.   
“Now Dr. Watson, if you don’t ask me questions, I won’t have to lie.”   
“Got it.” John narrows his eyes as he follows the other man again, ‘I think’ he mouths.   
“I’m your driver,” he says as he opens the back door so John can get in. John pauses before letting out a breath.   
“What?”   
“I’m to take you to Baker Street.” John shakes his head as he gets in. This is ridiculous, Sherlock and Mycroft share the sentiment. 

… 

“What do you mean you lost him?” Moriarty yells at the men standing before him. They cower but that doesn’t produce the one he is looking for. He snarls as he walks away from them and sends them out again. 

Jim starts laughing and Moriarty screams at him to ‘shut up, shut up, shut up!’. 

… 

“Dr. Watson?”   
“Yeah?” He doesn’t look away from the laptop.   
“It’s for you.” John absently holds his hand out for the phone, but it’s the helicopter that’s for him. John stares at the helicopter as he walks up to it. His hands are in his pockets which allows him to feel his phone vibrate. He hasn’t been in one in years, not since jumping out of them in Air Assault training. 

_It’s from me -MH_

Even stranger than the helicopter is the location, John thinks, but Sherlock finally puts on some clothes and steals him as ashtray so there’s that. John can’t hide his giggles. 

An hour later they are in a cab again, and despite Sherlock’s numerous wardrobe changes he’s in the same clothes he put on in the Palace. 

“You didn’t even change your clothes.” John states as he realizes this and Sherlock shrugs.  
“I was trying to add a splash of color.” He responds as he has the cabbie pull over. John follows him down the street until Sherlock stops.   
“We’re here?” he asks because he was expecting something a little bigger, flashier.   
“Two streets away, but this will do.” Will do?   
“For what?” Sherlock tilts his head. Best not to give John a straight shot, he can break a man’s nose with his weak hand and a concussion.   
“Punch me in the face.” Sherlock instructs, tapping his own.   
“Punch you?” he has to ask because Sherlock has done crazy things but John didn’t peg him as a masochist.   
“Yes, punch me in the face, didn’t you hear me?”   
“I always hear ‘Punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking but it’s usually subtext.” He says with a straight face, but he can’t help but thing of all of those people he has punched and damaged and he doesn’t want to do that to Sherlock. It takes Sherlock a split second to realize this and he rolls his eyes.   
“Oh, for God’s sakes,” and Sherlock punches John. He watches John step back and tries to brace himself. He exhales as John gets up. He’s angry, but not so angry he smiles. He’s angry enough to deck Sherlock back-right hand-weak hand-and Sherlock surprises himself by losing his footing and falling. John is shaking his hand off as Sherlock rises.   
“Thank you,” for hitting me, “thank you” for not breaking anything. “That was,” helpful, “that was” painful. Sherlock loses his breath as John tackles him, Sherlock turns on the ground so John’s on his back, and humorously enough, John stays on his back as he rises. John’s annoyed, and being annoying but Sherlock’s glad John hasn’t gone all soldier on him.   
“I think we’ve done enough, John.”   
“You’d do well to remember I was a soldier” John’s gritting out, on his feet again, He’s got Sherlock bent over. “I kill people.”   
“You are a doctor.” Sherlock insists, although that doesn’t make John’s point any less true, he has seen the evidence of it multiple times.   
“I have bad days.” John replies as if that could sum up his years in Afghanistan. Sherlock is pulling on John’s arms when he laughs. “What?”   
Sherlock flips John over his shoulder and John rolls to standing again and Sherlock sees something a little more dangerous in John’s eyes than he’d like. Before John can move again Sherlock shoots his hands in the air in surrender. 

“That was fun, but we should probably go catch the bad guy.” John sniffs and shakes his head.   
“Lead the way.” They walk a few steps before John speaks again. “You have to know that if we were really fighting, there is no way you could win.” Sherlock knows that, he’s calculates his odds and what he’d have to do if John ever got violent towards him, but he shrugs a shoulder   
“Sure.” He grins as John huffs.   
“I’m serious.” Sherlock starts taking longer steps so John will have to start jogging soon. “Sherlock!”


	10. Kate

Kate first met Moriarty when she was 17. 

She had first come out to her parents a few weeks before, and their love and support filled her with such warmth that she decided she could tell her closest friends too. One of her friends decided to tell her older brother, who suddenly decided that Kate was a danger to Mel and needed to be converted.

His attempt to talk to her and date her didn’t work. Kate thought men were great, but women were just so pretty and she told him that and it ended with him hitting her in an alley. She screamed before his hand covered her mouth and silenced her to just crying.

“You should really leave her alone,” were the first words of his she heard and she’ll never forget the relief of help. He was small and scrawny but his friends weren’t. He had taken her head in his hands and told her it was okay now. He _read_ her and told her he knew she was bisexual and that he was gay, that it was okay and he was making it his life’s mission to rid the world of bullies. She hugged him and cried.

He offered to get rid of her first ex-girlfriend and she, when she was boxing, managed to give his first ex a black eye. He was her best friend for a while but she watched him turn into something else. She supported him though decisions that became more and more questionable, until finally she knew he could have anyone she wanted murdered and never found. She was equally appalled and intrigued but he let her out without a fight in a rare moment where she saw Jim and not Moriarty, as he had started to go by.

Years later, she found herself hiding in the bathroom because her employer/lover had gotten some photographs of a compromising politician and they wanted to kidnap her for leverage. She couched in the stall and suddenly knew there was only one person she could call for help.

He answered on the first ring, as always, and she bit her lip.

“Jim?”  
“Yes, it’s me.” He answered firmly before there is a softer, “Kate?”  
“Jim, I need you.”  
“What do you need?” he answered back and he found himself enraged at people who would try to harm her. She is one of very few people that both Jim and Moriarty are fond of and she is out of that situation so quickly that the next thing she knew there was a woman helping her up off the bathroom to take her home.  
“I owe you one, Jim.” She said right before she hung up, and as they often said as young adults, “and I’ll give you one better.” Their friendship had rekindled after. She learns that Jim and Moriarty are two separate people. She finds an odd satisfaction at being treasured by a man who doesn’t value people and loved by a woman who plays with hearts for a living.

Now, she thinks, she has the one better. At least, her mistress does, in the form of royalty tied to the bed. 

“Call Jim.” Irene is skeptical, but Kate pouts and Irene can’t help herself.  
“You’re a naughty kitten.” Kate smiles and tilts her head to the side.  
“Meow,” Irene runs a finger along Kate’s cheek.  
“Dial him.”  
“Yes, Mistress.” She breathes into the black lace of Irene’s gown as she presses the button on her phone.

“Hello?” he answers after a few rings and Kate can tell he’s in the middle of something.  
“This is Kate. Jim?”  
“Yes, of course it is,” they both answer to Jim for her, “what do you want?” because he loves her, but her timing could not be worse right now. He’s in the middle of his confrontation with the Virgin and his pet and this was supposed to be fun!  
“Hello, Jim, this is Irene.” Moriarty turns away from the boys. Well, Kate’s okay. “I’ve got something for you. Or rather someone, her majesty is currently tied to my bed awaiting my return.”  
“Say that again!” He screams as he turns.  
“Jim!” Kate gasps and Irene places a hand on the back of her head.  
“Say that again,” he repeats calmly but threatening “and know that if you’re lying to me I will find you and I will skin you.”  
“Jim,” Kate breathes out “it’s your one better.”  
“Wait.” He voices before muting them. Kate and Irene look to each other and Irene raises an eyebrow.  
“I find it funny that my little kitten is best friends with that giant dog.” Kate hums as Irene plays with her hair. Suddenly Irene tightens her hand and pulls so that Kate is looking at the ceiling and Irene is pulling her hair, she lets out a strangled breath as Irene mutes the call from their end.  
“If this works, kitten,” Irene lets her lips hover over Kate’s exposed neck. “I will make you a very happy woman.”  
“Yes, Mistress.” She breathes out before she whimpers as Irene’s hand tightens,  
“But I decide if we continue with him and if I say we are out, we are out.”  
“Yes, Mistress.” Irene lets go of her in that instant and pushes down on her shoulders and Kate instantly falls to her knees and looks down. Irene continues to play with her hair and Kate nuzzles into Irene’s thighs.  
“So if you have what you say you have,” Irene looks to the phone grabbing it with one hand and playing with Kate’s hair with the other. She takes the phone off mute. “I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes. ”  
“Since I have what I said and Kate greatly believes you to be an asset, I’d like to form a partnership.”  
“Go on.” Kate can tell he’s amused. Normally people come to him with information they don’t know how to use. But her Mistress has a plan.  
“I’ll need some of your resources, and I’ll trade some things I have, but I want to play around with royalty.”  
“I’ll put you on a leash.” He warns and Irene leans onto the banister.  
“Come now, you know me better than that, Mr. Moriarty. I am the one who holds the leash.”  
“This isn’t a one better, Kate.” Moriarty shifts the conversation and Kate shifts on the floor. Irene narrows her eyes at the implication that Moriarty meant that much to Kate.  
“Jim, trust me on this.” Moriarty sighs.  
“You have her there now?”  
“Yes.” Irene stands up straight.  
“I’ll come over tonight, we’ll talk about it.”  
“I’ll make your favorite.” Kate tempts and Irene shakes her head.  
“Seven.” Irene concludes and ends the call. Kate looks up at her and Irene smiles. “Come now, kitten, wait a few minutes and then we’ll see if her highness likes pets, maybe she’ll even let you kip on the bed and lick up the milk.” Kate closes her eyes at the image and lets out a breath.

“Well now,” She says louder as she moves towards the room and grabs her whip. “Have you been wicked, your highness?”

…

_I took some pictures of her royal highness tied to the bed._

“In your bed?” Moriarty opens as he hears the phone picked up.  
“Of course,” she sounds smug “in all her glory.” There is a soft sigh “and then some”  
“Naughty.” Moriarty teases and she smiles, she thinks he’s flirting.  
“I’m afraid I’m the one who gives out the spankings, Mr. Moriarty.” He rolls his eyes.  
“Spare me,” he deadpans and she laughs as if he’s told a joke. “I’m almost there, but I already have some ideas about where we go from here.” She hums and finds herself smiling as he outlines their options and when she poses her own.  
“You can tell Kate this is her one better.” He sums up before he hangs up the phone. He is going to have fun with this.

…

_I have a present for you_

“Look at this, kitten.” Irene tilts the phone and Kate looks at the two men in the picture.  
“I like the blonde one.” She rubs her head against the bare skin of Irene’s arm.  
“Do you?” Irene makes a note of it. “Well, the brunette is the detective.”  
“Sherlock Holmes?” Kate looks to the picture again. “He’s not your type.”  
“You’re my type.” Irene flirts, “but brainy is the new sexy.” Kate makes a noncommittal sound.  
“Kitten, looks like we are going to have a visitor.” Kate watches her walk away. “I’ll need a bit of time to get ready.”  
“A long time?”  
“Ages.”

Kate watches Irene go through different outfits and voices her opinion on each, but Mistress is right when she states that anything and everything would work on her. Kate does Mistress’ makeup, and knows she’s going in a battle dress but she’s still irresistibly turned on to see Mistress walking around before the boys arrived. 

When the door rings she walks over and says hello, she watches the detective bumble through an excuse and laughs as she lets them in. When she finally sees the blonde, good old Captain Watson, she realizes that he is the one Jim was talking about. Her fondness for him changes instantly. He belongs to Jim’s in the same way she belonged to her Mistress even though they didn’t know it yet. When he fills up the bowl in the kitchen, she snaps a picture of him and sends it to Jim with the caption.

_Present. He’s a cutie._

She watches him leave the kitchen before heading upstairs to the bedroom and then she hits the ground with the thought that the hit was harder than it needed to be to knock her out.

…

When John comes back from checking the back door, he finds Sherlock on the ground and Irene Adler sitting on the windowsill.  
“He’ll sleep for a few hours, make sure he doesn’t choke on his vomit, it makes for a very unattractive corpse.”  
“What’s this, what have you given him?”  
“Now that it’s just us, I can tell you that Jim Moriarty sends his regards.” John turns to look to her, and she notices the shift from the good kind doctor to the dangerous soldier. She’s not interested in men herself, not sexually, but she’d love a chance to break the soldier and corrupt the doctor. She’d even let the kitten watch, clean up, play. She knows she could do it. She tilts her head in interest and he shakes his head as he points to her.  
“What did you do to him?” Now that’s a dark dangerous voice she’d make whimper. Oh if only she had the time.  
“He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.” John kneels and turns Sherlock so that he’s on his side and she smiles as he turns back to her.  
“Sherlock, can you hear me?” Sherlock makes noise, but there’s no telling if it was in response to John’s question. John turns towards Irene. “Are you working for Moriarty?” She shakes her head, she’s not working with him yet, and for some reason he believes her.  
“Did he send you after him because of me?” Now John’s worried. She shakes her head as she wonders how Moriarty would feel if she kissed him, owned him, or corrupted him first. He has to be the one Kate said Jim was showing interest in, however unknowing the both parties were. Kitten sees the way he’s going stir crazy, it’s only a matter of time. “But he does seem to be missing you.” John rubs his head in frustration.  
“I can’t believe it.”  
“I wouldn’t go,” she advises because she can read his thoughts from his expressions. Sherlock jerks up but John uses a hand to keep him down. Irene smiles again. She’d have John on his knees, his dog tags taking his breath away. “Jim Moriarty is the type of man who thinks it is beneath him to beg, so I’d make him.” John can’t help but to laugh in disbelief and Irene sends him a friendly wink before leaning back. John turns back to Sherlock to help him up and get him home. He glances to Kate and places her in bed.

…

The very next day John sees two more men tailing him and ducks into an alleyway before jumping up to reach the fire escape. He climbs quickly, knowing he has a minute at most. He watches, from the roof, as the two enter the alleyway before cursing and making a call. John shakes his head as he watches them. He leans back to catch his breath.  
“Not going to get me before I get the milk again.” He thinks back to Irene’s words and shakes his head again.

When John gets back to Baker Street with the groceries and puts them away as Sherlock sits up from the couch. John is a little late, but the next step for him will be to make tea, it’s like clockwork, John and his tea. Then he will leave a cup that Sherlock will ignore before drinking it. Sherlock looks back down to the file Mycroft gave him about Irene but looks up at the sound of John’s ringtone. 

Odd.

“Hello?” John sounds as confused as Sherlock is.  
“Any idea why Moriarty is threatening to blow up Big Ben if you don’t have tea with him this afternoon?” John laughs before stopping.  
“You’re serious?” Sherlock tilts his head in thought. “Oh God, you are. No. No clue. I thought it had to do with Sherlock.”  
“That was my initial assumption.” Mycroft responds back evenly, as if bored.  
“Jesus, no clue.” John sighs and Sherlock shifts. “Tea today?”  
“I am given to understand his men are outside in a black car.” John shakes his head, looking for an answer that’s not there.  
“Great. Just great.” John hangs up to see he has a text.

_What kind of milk?_

**What?**

Is that Moriarty? Is he really texting a criminal mastermind about milk?

_What kind of milk do you take with your tea?_

**2%**

What the hell, maybe he’ll get some milk with his tea. John shakes his head before grabbing a novel off the table and walking over to the door.

“John?” Sherlock asks as he glances from the kettle to John. He feels a little lost with the small imbalance and he’s not sure why. Half of John’s mouth quirks up.  
“Big Ben is in danger. Tea is imminent. Ask your brother.” Sherlock’s look of confusion causes John to laugh so hard he almost falls down the stairs.

He doesn’t make it out of 221 B before seeing the men waiting for him. He recognizes Maraino but not the other. The man at his door holds his hand out for the paperback and John rolls his eyes but the man won’t move. “Really?” The man doesn’t move, “what am I going to do, paper cut his trachea?” Which is impossible. The man takes the book and pauses, trying to figure out if it is possible and John snatches the book back while trying not to laugh. He can’t believe this. He really can’t. “I believed Big Ben was threatened, let’s go have tea.” John thinks back to Irene.

Is this begging?

….

“Would you really have destroyed Big Ben over tea?” John asks later as he blows on his cuppa, because that has never even been a thought for him. He can’t believe how domestic this feels and that he actually feels grateful he wasn’t knocked out this time.  
“Perhaps.” Jim replies as he sips his tea. His suit jacket is on the chair and his tie is loosened. John looks from one cup to the other and can’t help himself from wondering. “You’ve been avoiding me” John stares. Not wanting to be kidnapped is _perfectly_ natural. The question that he does ask is a little different.  
“Could you?” Jim pauses before looking up at John.  
“Don’t ask boring questions, Captain. Of course I can.” John shifts, Jim notices. “Even you could, although it’s not exactly Kandahar.” John’s guilty look tells Jim more than he thought it would.  
“It was different.” John bites back.  
“Yes.” Jim agrees and John puts his cup down angrily.  
“Don’t you dare judge me!” He’s defensive. Jim shakes his head.  
“No. Not on that.” Jim finishes his tea.  
“What is this even for?” John sees that Jim is done and guzzles his tea. The burn in his throat satisfies him a little.  
“Two things. The first is to show no harm will come to you with me.” _Lies._ John narrows his eyes and Jim continues, ignoring Moriarty’s voice inside his head. “The second is that I can and will cripple the nation if anyone tries to keep you from me.” The hair on the back of John’s neck rises as he stands, his argument about the first point lost. The scariest part is that John believes him, somehow John has become a person that Moriarty will destroy a city for. What does that mean? Why him? He slams his fists into the table.  
“Why?” Jim’s face changes into a few emotions in those few seconds and John is stuck by the oddity of it compared to the man who had him strapped into a bomb and threatened him. Jim can’t figure out whether or not he wants to tell him. He thinks back to Kate’s words and finds his heartbeat is erratic. _Sentiment??_ Moriarty practically roars with disgust, especially once Moriarty realizes this makes getting rid of John harder. It wouldn’t be a choice anymore, it’s a battle. Finally Jim leans forward and decides to just tell the truth but Moriarty’s phone rings.  
“Oops, maybe next time” Jim says as he picks up the phone. Maybe that’s a sign.

“Yes he’s done, as is your interference.” Jim opens and closes his hand as he listens, mocking the other person. John watches in apprehension as Jim rolls his eyes. This man wants something from him, and it’s enough that he will continue to threaten England and so terrible he can’t even tell John. “Don’t make me threaten something your masters will hang you for.” Jim hangs up and rolls his eyes and John wonders if there is anything he could deny this man. How much of this life is out of his hands now? “Mummy’s waiting.” Jim says to John as he slides his phone across the table. John stands with a quick look to the window and grabs his phone before heading out to get into one of Maraino’s cars. He spends the ride lost in thoughts he can’t put together and as soon as he walks into 221B, Sherlock rushes over to him to check him over. When Sherlock is sure John is physically fine he holds him at arm’s length.

“I don’t know how to get him to stop.” Sherlock hangs his head and John feels the curls brush against his chin. He focuses on that, because the inside of his mind isn’t something he can settle right now.  
“It’s fine.” John soothes and Sherlock lifts his head slightly. John could feel his breath on his chin. “I mean it’s not fine to be kidnapped by Moriarty all the time but he’s not hurting me.” John pauses. “Anymore.” He sighs. He thinks back to Jims earlier actions. “What’s going on here, Sherlock?” Sherlock stands fully and lowers his hands to his sides. John’s tongue moistens his lips as he waits for an answer.  
“No idea.” Sherlock pulls back before looking, fondly, at John, “but I’ll figure it out.” He promises. John believes him.


	11. Chapter 11

_I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner._

…

“Is this my new prison?” John opens as he walks into the living room, because he dreads the answer but he has to know. He stayed in the bedroom for as long as he could stand once he woke up, but he needs to stretch his legs. There is no response so he glances around and recognizes the apartment as the one he was in last time for tea. He wonders what happened to the other one. He remembers Sarah and flexes his now healed hand. What happened to the cage? John glances around but this place doesn’t seem to have one.  
“Well, I rather liked the last one, but I’d rather not be interrupted.” John didn’t, he clenches his fist.  
“No matter which mood you were in.” Jim freezes, can he tell? and at the silence John’s anger rises. His frustration peaks. Sherlock and he had been fighting Moriarty this entire time but he seemed as strong as ever, sitting in ease in an apartment. He’s kidnapped John multiple times, and made it very clear John cannot deny him these visits. “Nobody tries to stop you at all?” John shakes his head before holding his hand out. “You’re right here!” John exclaims. He’s not even a 20 minute drive from London and yet he is too far to catch.  
“Yes, I am.” Jim nods as he agrees. “You know this.” He smiles “I know this. Mycroft will find an apartment once in a while but as long as I control his masters he can do nothing but bark.” Jim shakes his head as if he’s listening to a medley. “You see, few people know where to find me but no one has the power to touch me.” He holds his hands out and John swallows.

_Yo Irishman, why didn’t you clap?_ “Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” John questions and Jim knows Moriarty is going to scold him later. He laces his fingers up in his lap instead of answering. John understands that Jim won’t elaborate and asks the other, seemingly silly, question he had.  
“Why am I always dumped on the bed?” The only time he wasn’t is a time he never wants to bring up again. Jim smiles as he shrugs.  
“I figure it’s more comfortable than the floor.” It makes sense but at the same time it is so absurd that John just walks away. Jim watches him go but says nothing. John finds the kitchen and makes two cups. He stares at the second cup after they’re made, he supposes it’s a habit, but he shouldn’t let it go to waste. Shaking his head in disbelief, he places a cup in front of the criminal, who simply watches him deposit the cup and pick up the book he had left there last time. John moves to the couch with his own cup and Jim’s eyes follow him, but John just sits on the couch to begin to read so Jim stares back at the cup. There is no poison in it. John has neither the access nor the talent. John had nothing on him. There is nothing in this flat. By all intents and purposes, John has made him a cup of tea.

Jim doesn’t touch it for a bit, just stares as he notices John sipping from his own cup. John seems content to ignore him, which is fine, for the novel. Jim looks between the cup and John again, but Moriarty doesn’t seem to have any thoughts on the matter either. 

Jim watches John turn a page as he takes a sip and he can’t help but smile at the feelings of warmth that spread through him. He looks down as he places the cup down and remembers Kate’s words to him. Her idea that Jim was getting sentimental, that he had found someone, was a wild guess at best. Truly, it was a ridiculous notion. Finally, we agree on something. Jim nods at that. Even if he did like John Watson, in any sort of way, there was no way he could keep him. John is and always will be Sherlock’s pet, and he’s way too invested in angels to become Jim’s plaything. He glances to John again, who looks up from his book in confusion, but Jim just offers a smile that’s way too big and John hurriedly looks back at his pages. Jim frowns.

Ridiculous. 

But John fights against Moriarty. Isn’t that the most important thing?

...

_I like your funny hat_

…

“I have a lot of work to do.” Jim suddenly announces and John looks up from his book to make eye contact.  
“So?” Did he want John to leave, stay? Is he now offering John the courtesy of a choice? John almost scoffs.  
“You won’t be home for dinner.” He states and John takes a breath before realizing he has no way to respond to that. He shakes his head a bit, as this had to be the one day John skipped lunch! He closes his book using his index finger as a temporary bookmark but he’s not sure what to say back to him. Jim pauses. “So, takeaway?” John’s eyes briefly narrow. Yes, the consulting criminal gets takeaway. Jim seems nervous. John crosses his arms as he tilts his head.  
“I’m not much in the mood for poison.” But it wouldn’t be right? Moriarty has gone through a lot of trouble to just poison him now. Jim laughs softly before looking away. John narrows his eyes in realization. He is nervous. Moriarty is nervous around him. He thinks of Irene’s words, making Jim beg, and he wonders if he truly has that influence and what in the world he possibly could have done to gain it.  
“Well, how about Chinese?” Jim offers and John stares for a minute before he nods. He swallows before he gives his and Sherlock’s order without thinking. Jim doesn’t write it down or call for food, but around half an hour later, there is a man at the door with said food. John keeps his eyes on the bag for any clue of something being wrong but it seems as natural as the entire situation could be. The man sets it on the table as John checks the flat for any obvious surveillance but it’s fruitless. 

Jim taps the table next to him as he takes out the containers. John notes he leave the food John ordered for Sherlock in the bag as he walks over to the table. Jim is eating before John sits, and not paying him much attention, but he is smiling. John doesn’t taste the food as he inhales it, and he stares at Jim the entire time.

“You have questions.” He voices and John sighs.  
“How do you know?” John puts his fork down as he half expects to be called dull but Jim shrugs.  
“You keep licking your lips, a nervous habit for most people when trying to figure out what to say. You take small bites, that could be manners but you were in private school for medicine, no reason you hadn’t been given proper dinning etiquette. Then there’s also the fact that your lips keep mouthing halves of words and you keep directing your gaze. Pretty simple to read once you know what to look for.”  
“Hmm,” John nods at the explanation and Jim looks back up at him.  
“So, your questions?” John smiles and shakes his head.  
“I seem to have forgotten them.” John giggles and after a second Jim joins him. Suddenly the room changes and John is on his feet when Moriarty slams his hands onto the table. John narrows his eyes and adopts a fighting stance but Moriarty just slams the table again and again.  
“Get out!” John locks eyes with the other for a second before turning and leaving and only after that does Moriarty collapse on the table while his hands grip his skull tightly.

“I’m going to kill him.” Moriarty growls. “Put a bullet in his heart.”

…

“I don’t understand a thing about this.”  
“No one understands,” Maraino offers, “I just do the job and get paid.”  
“But he’s a criminal mastermind?” Of which John seems to be the only one who cares. “How do you feel working for… that!?” John gestures towards the direction they came.  
“Don’t judge me.” The man suddenly says harshly and John straightens. “From what I know, you’ve killed people.” John is silent and the man huffs. “All I do is drive a car.”

The rest of the ride is silent. 

…

_I can see tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me._

“He kept you later this time.” Sherlock greets as John walks into 221B.  
“You eat?” John asks ignoring Sherlock’s comment and the moan he heard coming up the stairs. Even so, he adds it to his mental count. Sherlock looks away from him.  
“Eating’s boring.” John figures as much, so he holds out the extra container to him. Sherlock lifts an eyebrow. “Sharing meals.” He observes with interest and John sits on his side of the couch without a word. Sherlock eats a few bites and tries to determine how long ago they ate by the temperature of the food but before he can ask John turns on the television. It’s rather obvious that this is something he does not want to talk about but it’s so interesting. When Sherlock’s feet find their way under John’s thigh he expects a glare and comment, but John just chuckles and reaches for the remote to change the channel. Sherlock watches him with interest but keeps eating after a moment. As John channel surfs, he lets his right hand rest on the couch, his thumb against Sherlock’s ankle. An hour later, Sherlock realizes the thumb is moving in small circles. He doesn’t notice much else for the rest of the time John’s sitting with him. He doesn’t even notice the moan from his phone, although it does cause John to pause in his motions.

_Oh for God’s sake. Let’s have dinner._

…

_I’m in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let’s have dinner_

Sherlock watches John mumble under his breath. 

_You looked sexy on Crimewatch._

Sherlock is almost sure John is _counting._

…

_Even you have got to eat. Let’s have dinner?_

Sherlock reads the message and John clearly mumbles a number. Sherlock isn’t hungry.

“Angelo’s?” Sherlock asks without answering the message and John nods.

…

It’s been weeks since Moriarty contacted him, but John still recognizes the number.

_Looks like a bullet wound to me._

John stares at the text as the patient squirms on the table. John pockets his phone and walks over to the patient while checking his surroundings, but there is nothing for him to notice. He wishes for someone else’s eyes, not for the first time, so that he can notice how he’s being so thoroughly watched. He watches the patient uncover the wound and he can recognize it came from a handgun. Standard issue. Mid range. 

“Just treat it and don’t ask questions.” The man demands and John shoots him an incredulous look. This is new. He’d heard of doctors being threatened by men bleeding out before but he never imagined it could happen to him. It wants to make him laugh. “If you know what’s good for you,” the man starts to threaten but John takes out his phone and turns away. Lestrade picks up and John starts to talk when the man shouts and makes a move for John. It’s laughable, this man is doing nothing to help his wounds and his skill gives him nothing to stop John. He uses his free hand to redirect the man’s sloppy punch as he shifts the phone.

“Lestrade, listen, I’ve got a patient with a bullet wound that’s probably a suspect somewhere. My clinic.” John feels the phone buzz but he drops it onto the table as he leans back. The man has now gotten blood on a decent amount of equipment.

“Stop.” John commands “Or I’ll be forced to use force.” The man glares as he tried to move again, so John steps to the man’s outside and delivers a nasty hit to the side of his neck. The man howls in pain but can’t do much else to harm John so John sits in the room until he can hear the sirens.

The phone buzzes again and as John glances at it the man takes that opportunity to try and run from the room. John lets him, and smiles as he runs straight into two of the Met. 

Lestrade has a few words with the other two officers before moving into the room to check on John.

“I think this actually has nothing to do with Sherlock.” Lestrade gives a half shrug. “So, congrats on solving your first independent case.” John narrows his eyes for a second before starting to giggle as he realizes the joke. Lestrade straightens, “We actually have been looking for him.” Lestrade confesses, “and had he chosen any other doctor he might have gotten away.”  
“I doubt it.” John replies as his phone buzzes again.  
“Sherlock?” Lestrade questions, “he can’t possibly know.” John swallows and doesn’t look away from it.  
“Who else?” Lestrade shakes his head as he leaves but John doesn’t get the phone right away. There is only one person it could be. Moriarty.  
  
_He looks like he’s getting angry, dear Watson_  
_It’s not really Lestrade’s area_  
_I’ve heard that before_  


John looks from the open door to the phone, and then to Sarah’s very concerned face hovering in the doorway.  
“John?” she questions and he grimaces.  
“Can I get some uh, cleaning supplies?” He looks from the mess the room has become to her face again and she nods.  
“Sure.” She looks both horrified and resigned and John looks to the phone again to feel it vibrate. 

_How exciting, you continue to prove interesting. I’ll be seeing you soon._

John rubs his face with his hands and only stops when Sarah knocks on the door again. John tries to convey his gratitude but it comes off as something that has her turning away and closing the door.

…

“I have no idea what he wants with you,” Sherlock lies as he reads the messages on the phone John has handed him. “But he wants you.” Sherlock doesn’t want to admit that it bothers him, but he can’t really disguise it. “This has nothing to do with me.” Not anymore. Sherlock has apparently failed his test, but John is passing all of his.

There is a moan that breaks the silence and John grits his teeth before he takes his phone back from Sherlock and heads upstairs. Sherlock shakes his head as he fishes his own phone out of his pocket. It appears they’ve both got their own person to deal with now. Sherlock opens the phone to see he’s got quite a bit of messages from her lately. He opens the last one. 

_I’m not hungry. Let’s have dinner._

…

“Give him my phone?” Irene questions defensively as he nods. She clutches the phone tighter as she holds it against her chest and Moriarty tilts his head.  
“Instead of our mutual friend’s American social security number,” Irene doesn’t show any response to him knowing, if anyone would be able to figure that out it would be him. “I’ll change it to John.” Moriarty says and she shifts.  
“John?” She’s angry, her eyes have narrowed and she’s come forward off her chair. “And how long until he guesses that?!” She has to protect this information. He had followed her plan before and it was working, why would he change this?  
“He won’t.” Ever. At least Moriarty can admit Jim’s weakness for Johnny boy, Sherlock won’t even acknowledge it. Irene clenches her phone tighter but Moriarty sounds so confident she is able to relax. Her kitten knows and trusts this man and they both owe him her life. He wouldn’t steer her wrong.  
“Can you guarantee that?” She leans forward, the phone now in between them. Moriarty realizes the move as her permission and he smiles.  
“Yes.”  
“Would you place a wager on it?” She smiles and places the phone on the table between them. Moriarty can’t help but think he can never give Kate one better than this. Instead of merely a pawn, Kate has given him someone who can think for herself and yet, isn’t so confident she won’t accept help from him. It is refreshing not to have to do everything himself anymore.  
“I would.” She nods.  
“How?” She leans back in the chair again and Moriarty looks her up and down. The jeans and T shirt give nothing specific away but his gaze settles on her fingernails, which no doubt she made Kate do. He can’t believe some of the things that Kate likes and how he would gladly kill anyone who thought to do half those things to her. Irene notices his lingering look on her nails and straightens her fingers. Her other hand comes up to rest under her chin. Despite Kate’s constant say so, Irene is always surprised when Moriarty discovers more about her though seemingly insignificant details. Kate picked the color and applied them, but she wonders what it will tell the other about herself.

“It’s Christmas.” He offers and she blinks before looking down to her pink nails. Kate wanted them pink for Christmas so Irene let her do a different pink every week until then. That’s fascinating, but not what he meant. “It’ll be a gift for him.”  
“John?”  
“Sherlock.” He answers as if obvious. “Same shade as your lipstick, unconscious association, but one that will lead him away from John.” She smiles, she always wears this shade.  
“And Sherlock will try to solve it because I’ve sent him a puzzle?”  
“No. He’ll try to solve it because he’ll think you’re dead.” Moriarty opens the phone to change the password and send a text  
“Oh, goodie, I’ve always wanted to fake my death before.”  
“Well, now it seems it is your time to die.”  
“Don’t be dramatic.” She playfully scolds, but she is grinning the entire time.

…

Kate is horrified at how well they’ve made the body look like her Mistress but Irene is amazed and won’t look away. Kate is once again reminded of how dangerous the pair of them are as Irene and Jim share a smile and she wonders what would ever happen to someone if they hurt her. It makes her feel safe to be honest. She tucks her feet under her and snuggles into the chair Jim said was for her  
“Such a shame she had to come in on Christmas,” Irene says as they watch Molloy uncover the body, “she is a cutie.” Moriarty watches Kate nod and switches the camera to the hall where they watch Sherlock take the cigarette a few minutes later.  
“Does that mean he liked me?” Irene asks as Kate shrugs but Moriarty doesn’t reply, he watches Sherlock take it and knows John will not be going out with his girl that night, they’ll search the flat for drugs and come up empty and Sherlock will compose as he fruitlessly tries to think of the code. 

…

_Dinner?_

John stares at the text as he leaves the clinic as he misses Moran and the other man approaching him.


	12. Alive

“You want to let John be the first to know you’re alive?” Jim asks as he interlocks his fingers. Irene smiles as she tilts her head.  
“It has to be him.” She smiles, her lips as red as they always are and Jim shakes his head as his face grows warm.  
“He’s off limits to you.” He surprises himself by being so forceful and Irene grins.  
“Oh?” He recognizes the teasing tone but he can’t separate that from his emotions now.  
“Yes.”

But Moriarty agrees with Irene, and is pleased she has a better idea than his was. Jim’s outnumbered and frowns even as he voices his approval. Irene can see the battle in his head written on his face so she crosses her legs and shrugs.  
“You can tell him first if you think it’ll do you any favors.” Jim nods.  
“I’ll do that.”

…

“Why ask if there was no way I could say no?” John asks as walks down to the kitchen. He is exasperated at all of this but what can he really do?  
“I was being polite.” Jim smiles and John shakes his head but sees his normal Thai food order on the table already. He sits, picks up the container and opens it without another word. “I should also tell you that you’re in for a shock later.” John swallows and hopes the surprise wasn’t the food.  
“Am I?” John looks up from possibly the best Thai he’s ever had to see Jim nod before shaking his head.   
“You know what? Why spoil it?” John pauses warily but Jim continues eating. It’s a companionable silence and John keeps waiting for something to ruin it but he realizes that he’s had his phone the entire time and this seems to just be dinner.  
“Happy New Year, Dr. Watson.” Jim says as he walks over to the kitchen. John nods as he walks all his disposables to the trash.  
“Yeah, um, you too.” John pauses awkwardly in the kitchen before Jim smiles and tilts his head.  
“Go ahead. Maraino is ready to take you home.”

…

The surprise comes the next day.

“John?”  
“Yeah?” he turns and can’t stop the smile on his face. “Hello.” He gets a good look at her and straightens “Hello.”  
“So, any plans for New Year tonight?”  
“Uh-uh, nothing fixed.” Did Moriarty send her? He zips up his coat. Why would he send her? “Nothing I couldn’t heartlessly abandon.” He can’t get over her looks. “You have any ideas?”  
“One.” And honestly John hates himself, because it was obvious from the start but he had dared to hope he’d have a date instead of a meeting with one of them. He really did. Since Moriarty warned him, it was only logical to assume its Mycroft. 

“You know, Mycroft could just phone me,” she smiles “if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.”

…

“Through there.” The woman stops walking and John nods making the rest of the journey alone. John takes confident steps into the warehouse. Even with the warning, Moriarty would have had him drugged or knocked out so he wasn’t responsible for this. The pretty woman wasn’t Anthea but Mycroft uses new assistants from time to time. Sherlock was still in the apartment. 

“Mycroft.” He calls out as he enters a large clearing to see a shadow by a large box.   
“He’s moping, but it’s not terrible. He’s still very much Sherlock. It seems he wasn’t as attached as you-” John’s voice stops as he notices the heels. She’s slender. She’s smaller than the Holmes he’d expected. He takes a deep breath and sighs,

“Hello, Dr. Watson,” Irene greets as she takes a few steps forward. John shakes his head. 

“Tell him you’re alive?” John asks and she shakes her head.  
“He’d come after me.”  
“I’ll come after you if you don’t.” This is not John’s idea of a good surprise.  
“Oh, I believe you.” Oh course she would, John doesn’t lie.  
“You were dead on a slab.”  
“There was a body.” She corrects with ease. He shakes his head.  
“Definitely you.” He insists and the smile on her face is nothing less than seductive.   
“Oh, come now, Dr. Watson, you and I know some powerful people.” His jaw sets and he can’t seem to move it.

Moriarty? Mycroft?

“He’ll find out anyway, I left something in his possession that I’m going to need back.”  
“Definitely you.” John repeated.  
“I knew the record keeper and I needed to disappear.” She crosses her arms and John could tell she doesn’t want to explain everything to him. Oh, she and Sherlock would definitely be happy together.   
“I’m not going to keep this from him.” John probably couldn’t anyway. “Tell him. You text him all the time.”  
“Jealous?” The corner of her mouth quirks.  
“No.” He wasn’t.  
“I need your help.”  
“No. Tell him you’re alive.”   
“No.”  
“Then I’ll tell him and I still won’t help you.” John turns to walk away and Irene smiles, he’s a bit harder than she thought. Well, time to play a little bit of a different card.  
“What do I say then?” John stops. She sounds like she needs help. He shakes his head as he stops walking away.   
“I don’t know, what do you usually text him because you text him a lot!” Sore spot. She notices.  
“Just the usual stuff.” Irene lifts her phone to read her text messages, noting it was the second time the good doctor brought up the texts. She reads a couple before stopping at his look.  
“You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?”  
“Jealous?” She asks again, but he stiffens and she knows she won’t get an answer. “At him.” She specifies. “He never replies.” And she and Moriarty have placed bets on whether or not he will after this. Add that to the wager on whether or not he’ll guess John and she stands to be in a very good spot if this all goes her way.  
“Sherlock always replies to everything.” Irene smiles, Moriarty’s right, she is special in her own little way. 

_I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner._

…

John is running up the stairs after another encounter with the consulting criminal when Sherlock calls him over. He noticed the open window but it didn’t make sense until he gazes into his bedroom.   
“Sherlock?”  
“We have a client.” Sherlock interrupts and John half smiles as he walks into Sherlock’s room.  
“Where, in your bedroom?” The smile fades and his mouth drops to see the woman sleeping on his bed.   
“Oh,”

John watches her and Sherlock talk. Irene’s gotten in too deep and needs her phone back, but Sherlock’s not just going to hand it over. John wonders where Kate is, but Kate might not have been as close to Irene as he thought. He glances at the computer and his phone as she walks around the room and he finally moves to his seat. He’s honestly waiting for a ‘Surprise’ text or something of the sort from Moriarty but nothing has come so far. Irene won’t be specific and Sherlock won’t budge, he might as well make sure he’s comfortable. 

Irene gets up and walks around the room and John’s eyes can’t help but follow her. She really does know how to take over a space. Sherlock seems bored and somewhat disinterested until Irene perches on the arm of John’s chair.   
“Where’s my camera phone?”  
“We’re not stupid.” John replies and she turns to him. It’s been awhile since he’s had so much attention focused on him and he clears his throat. She moves a bit closer and he can feel her bare leg press against his clothed one.   
“Then what have you done with it?” her voice comes out as a purr and John feels his throat close up. John glances over to Sherlock for help but Sherlock just watches them impassively. “If you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you.” She’s so close John wonders how she hasn’t already fallen onto his lap, John’s concerned that he really wants her to.  
“If they’d be watching me, they’ll know I took a safety deposit box at a bank in the strand a few months ago.” John can feel Irene’s attention leave him like a weight being lifted.” Sherlock tilts his head. “You are aware your attentions do not bother me, yes?” Then why would he mention it? Irene locks eyes with him.  
“I know,” she responds as she leans back and slides backwards, straight onto John’s lap. John’s face darkens as he looks away and lifts his arms out of her way praying he doesn’t get too excited, her thin robe doesn’t hide anything of hers. “It’s not for you.” John takes loud thin breaths as he tries not to move under her but she settles into a spot on top of him and he closes his eyes. Irene smiles, there is no physical reaction from John but she bets his face is doing lots of nice pretty things for Moriarty and Sherlock to focus on. Yes, part of it was just for Sherlock. Part of Sherlock burns with anger or jealousy as he watches and he’s pained to admit he isn’t sure which.

Irene and Sherlock continue talking as John fights a losing battle with his body. Jim is barely restraining himself but he loses it when Irene leans forward and John lets out a whimper.  
“I misbehave.”

Yes, she’s misbehaving now. 

Jim knows exactly the anger and jealousy coursing through his veins. He knows just how much of both of them. He stands and slams a hand on the table.

“Oh, Miss Adler, you were told Dr. Watson was off limits. I think it is time for you to vanish again.” Jim’s alarmed at that and Kate giggles behind him. Jim turns and Kate smiles.  
“I was right you know.” Jim’s lips flatten. “You like him.” She smiles and his anger fades as he slumps onto the table.  
“Moriarty will kill him if he gets too close.” _Quite right._ “and John won’t be able to tell the difference.”  
“I can.” She counters. “Now, either you let him go, or you catch him.” Jim shakes his head.  
“You had her do that on purpose.” Kate smiles but admits nothing directly.   
“I had her do something for me as she did something for you.”   
“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Jim cedes as he stands.  
“Now go play with Mycroft and figure out how you’re going to get your cute blond doctor.”

Moriarty is walking down to pick up a new phone to contact Moran when he gets the text from Irene. He smiles and sends one to Mycroft. If only all of his people worked this quickly. Kate flashes in his mind and he scoffs before blowing a raspberry. He would not give into her pestering to take John Watson in as a weakness. His fondness for her will make sure he lets her try, but nothing else will come from it. 

Jim has managed to outsmart him by staying away from John for those few months. If he kills John now, Jim and Kate will have their martyr, and martyrs cannot be silenced. He has to scare John away.

…

John’s gone out, no telling where or with who and Sherlock is sitting on a couch as Mycroft and Irene negotiate their surrender. Sherlock’s been played, apparently. Sherlock is still being used as Irene has him detail why none of his brother’s plans will work for unlocking the phone.

“Now, Mycroft.” Mycroft leans forward, his head in his hands. Sherlock has never seen his brother at such a loss. He was supposed to be the smart one. Sherlock looks away from the pair.

_Go on, impress a girl._

Truthfully, it hadn’t been her he had been trying to impress. After not seeing him for months, John had been spending more and more time with the consulting criminal. Not that either of them could help it, Sherlock had just wanted to remind John what was here. He didn’t want Irene to tell him it was brilliant but he expected John to, unless he’s no longer impressive. Unless John thought Moriarty was better.

“I can only give you immunity now; even I am not that powerful.” She smiles but there is no warmth. There would be no point with the iceman. He’s already sent the text so Anthea has taken care of it.  
“So, I’ll just hold onto this.” She reaches for the phone but he grabs it first.  
“We will, Ms. Adler. We don’t have the code and we won’t anytime soon.” They both look to Sherlock and he’s never felt so incompetent.   
“Very well,” Irene stands and she wonders why Sherlock couldn’t get John. John was the key piece in this puzzle. She owes Moriarty a disruptive Korean election if Sherlock doesn’t guess John.  
“I wish our lot were half as thorough as you.”  
“I had a bit of help from Moriarty, who sends his regards.” Sherlock looks over to her, he knows this is more her than him, he knows Moriarty’s MO and this isn’t it. This is safety nets and seductive play whereas Moriarty flirts and then strikes, he’s not concerned about safety. This is Irene who has beaten him and Sherlock doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

Sherlock watches Irene’s eyes soften in pity looking at him and that jump starts his brain. He stands; the look should be mocking, of victory, unless the code was so easy she thought he would get it. Unless Moriarty picked the code. She tilts her head and Mycroft debates just telling him to shut up before she makes more demands.

“Of course.” He says and Mycroft lets out a small smile, an ‘of course’ out of his brother’s mouth always preceded the answer. Sherlock has figured it out. “Sentiment.” Mycroft holds the phone up as Sherlock takes two quick steps towards it. Irene looks more interested than worried. “But not yours, you’ve been playing from the start.” The red lipstick and present. The kiss. Her pulse was higher with him, but that could easily be played off on the rush of the game. “The combination to your safe was your body so this would naturally be your heart.” He was right. It was Kate before Moriarty changed it. “But not yours, mine.” He doesn’t want to admit he has sentiment. “It is what Moriarty thinks is in my heart.” He enters “John” and tilts it towards her, if anything, her grin grows. Is he wrong?

He hits enter and the phone opens. Sliding it to Mycroft, he finds himself face to face with the woman.   
“Don’t take offense.” She smirks. “I was just playing the game.”  
“This is just losing.” He counters and she smiles.  
“I have immunity.” She does, Sherlock sees Mycroft nod over her head. “So, let’s call it a draw,” he doesn’t like that idea, “but only until you reset the game.” Sherlock shifts and regards her with interest. Odd wording. She takes three steps around him.

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes.” She bids and they both watch her go. 

Irene can’t stop the grin that appears on her face. She’s beaten all of them.


	13. Loyalty

Honestly, John should know better.

He has tried to date since he got back from the war and it was always in vain. Either something about him being in the military or a result of that is the reason girls lost interest, or the fact that Sherlock would storm in mid date, say something crazy that is somehow more appealing to John, _or_ the date will have been a fake from the beginning and Jim Moriarty will slide into the other side of the booth with Mock surprise. Truth be told, he’s not honestly that surprised. 

His mind races with a few things he could say or do but he knows that if Jim wants dinner with him then there is nothing John can do to get out of it and he doesn’t have much of a chance getting away from him now. John takes a deep breath before deciding to sod this. 

“You’re paying, and I’m getting something expensive, and dessert.” John says nothing else, just looks back at the menu for something ridiculously priced. Jim says nothing until after they’ve placed their orders and John has lost the shield of the menu.

“Surprise.” Jim shakes his hands a little for theatrics but John just snorts and shakes his head.  
“The last time you said that a woman who was dead sent a car for me.” Jim just smiles in response. John can be perceptive at times. “No. Really?” John is left open mouthed as the waitress places the appetizer in front of them and Jim takes a chip and dips it into the dip before taking a bite and nodding at the flavor. John shakes his head.

“Wait, Irene’s alive?”

Jim holds a finger to his lips and doesn’t say any more of it. John doesn’t say anything until the food is brought to them. He cuts into his steak before stopping.  
“Does Sherlock know?” He then shakes his head, answering himself. “No, he would have told me.” John remembers Sherlock taking the phone from him, the composing. Jim says nothing, just drinks some wine and takes a bites of his pasta. There’s no way but would Jim lie to him? John groans and shakes his head.

“I’m not playing this game with you.”   
“What games do you play?” Jim leans forward and John looks away and flattens his lips.  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
“I think, Dr. Watson, I want you to be able to trust me, as I’ve found myself growing fond of you.” He spots the panic in John’s eyes rising as John looks back to him so he tilts his head. “You remain interesting, is all.”

They eat in silence for a bit before John puts down his fork noisily.

“Sherlock would have told me.” Jim continues to chew slowly. “I don’t know why you’d lie, but I’d know if she were still alive.”  
“I guess the question is ‘who do you believe’ and ‘who should you?’”

If John can trust him with this, when John learns to trust him with this, he will tell him. He will tell John the truth and let him connect the dots he’s been collecting. John and Jim eat in silence, even as John orders the biggest dessert and Jim takes out cash to pay. When the bill is paid, John uses the restroom and Jim leaves before he gets out. Afterwards, when John waits outside for a cab he wonders why he’s disappointed Moriarty’s gone, or why he wants to ask Sherlock about Irene. 

He shakes his head and decides to walk for a bit. There is a park close by anyway.

_I don’t believe you._ John sends to the number he thinks is still Moriarty’s, even if it wasn’t, John was somehow sure Moriarty would get it. He shakes his head before remembering that he wanted to pick up milk and biscuits and flags down a cab.

The cab he tries to take isn’t a cab at all, and he’s so frustrated at the situation he threatens to jump out of the moving vehicle, but it has child locks and now they are engaged.

…

“Everyone seems to get me on the way to get the milk!” John shouts, annoyed, as he walks down the warehouse. Seriously, how many of these are abandoned anyway? “It’s just impolite!” He groans as he shakes his head. “Let this be a warning to all of you,” he continues, “I’m going to use your drivers to get the shopping done from now on.” Lord knows he gets kidnapped enough for him to never have to walk to the shop again.  
“So what-” and once again he stops mid-sentence when brought face to face with Irene Adler. John takes a deep breath before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

“I didn’t believe him.” Why would he? John watches her smile.  
“I know. That’s why we’re here.”

John believed Sherlock over Jim, over Moriarty. That should have been a given, should have been the right thing to do. Yet, here she was, as alive as he was and only Jim had thought to tell him. Sherlock lied. John shakes his head.

“I was dead?” She offers before shaking her head. “Don’t believe things like that, especially when it comes to us.” Us? John meets her eyes with the question. “Surely you realize we are both powerful people.” He doesn’t. How cute. Oh, she’d go so far if she had what he did. “Unless you need more than the Holmes brothers and Jim Moriarty?” John shakes his head with a small smile.  
“I barely have a Holmes, and I don’t have Moriarty.”  
“Even I have a Holmes, faking my death a second time took Sherlock.” John feels rage and he’s not sure why. Irene digresses. “I sincerely hope you don’t believe that.” John shifts and Irene frowns. “It would make you terribly unworthy.” John clenches his fist and looks up at her again. He didn’t have Jim, but he knows Jim wants him. “So you do.” She nods in approval. “Both Sherlock and Moriarty. Who could possibly have more?” John doesn’t let it get to his head, but the more he thinks about it, the more amazing he sounds. To think, a year ago he held a gun and thought about ending it all.

“He told me not to touch you.” She walks closer to him and he debates taking a step back, but she’s a domanatrix, a predator, and he wasn’t her prey “but I can’t resist touching you first.” Her hand doesn’t strike him as he thought it would. John looks up at her, still wearing that shade of red, the only thing she wore when they first met. John watches as her lips descend on his and pulls back a second later. His cheeks color and she takes a step back. He can feel her lipstick on his own lips and resists the urge to wipe it away.  
“I’m flattered, truly-wait-What do you mean first?”  
“Exactly what you think I mean.” She crosses her arms. “You’ll see me soon now that he’s reset the game.”  
“So you are working for him now.” He infers.  
“No,” she shakes her head. “I’m teasing him now.” John turns his head at the sound of footsteps to see the woman who lured him into the car. “I have what he wants, or at least, I can make him think that.” John doesn’t respond. “Think about it, it could be fun.” He turns back to Irene.  
“Making Moriarty jealous?” it sounded weird even to his own ears. “That explains the last time you were at the flat.”  
“Made Sherlock jealous too.” John looks to the distance before back to her. “See what I mean about powerful?” John doesn’t respond. He’s straight, mostly. Still, he’s not interested in getting involved with either of them. Except now that he thinks about it… No. John gives his head the briefest of shakes that she pretends to miss. John’s thoughts are back on Sherlock now, Sherlock lied.  
“Now, Miranda, if you will, Doctor Watson needs to pick up some milk.”

…

“SHERLOCK!” 

Sherlock pauses in mid deduction, hands still in the air, as he starts to turns towards the door. John’s angry. Why would John be angry? He lets his hands fall to his side as he stares at the space John will occupy in a second. He watches John come in and narrows his eyes a tiny bit as John puts a bag on the table before turning towards him.

John’s attire indicated date, but the time shows that it was longer than a standard date and then, Sherlock glances to the table, shopping. The date did not go as expected, then. John’s sleeves have been rolled up, indicating dinner at a fancy establishment, but he’s not slumped around like he usually is after spending a large amount of money. Interesting. The other treated, but John would never let a date treat. The tension above his eyes indicates a visit from Mycroft or Moriarty, but a visit from Mycroft usually aligns John with him, not against him. Therefore, Moriarty, who treated for dinner but tricked John into thinking it was a date. Food with John equals conversation and Sherlock doubts even Jim Moriarty could get out of that. So Moriarty told John something about Sherlock that made him angry. John likely kicked something and stormed off.

Then John took a walk. His shoes have mud on them, and not all of it has dried. Based on the crease in his pants it wasn’t a short walk either, so the subject was important. But John’s pace up the stairs indicated energy so he was driven home. There must have been an extra stop. Not Moriarty and most likely not his brother. 

Lipstick on his lips. He hasn’t tried to wipe it off. A woman he didn’t mind being kissed by, but he’s not in a relationship and he obviously did not get back from a date. Could it? Sherlock thinks back to the first meeting and his Christmas present. The woman.

“John?” he asks and John clenches his fists before loosening them.   
“Were you ever going to tell me Irene was alive?” Sherlock nods to himself, of course he was right.   
“Would it have impacted your life in any way?”  
“No.” John takes a step closer. He shook his head. The impact didn’t matter but the situation did, unless Sherlock doesn’t realize the implications of this. Sherlock tilts his head and John shakes his again. “You lied to me.” Ah. There was the problem.  
“You lied to me too.” Sherlock counters. “When you heard she died you told me she was in America.”  
“To protect you.” John insists and Sherlock scoffs.  
“Protect me?” John watches the valleys on his face deepen as he sneered. “and how does that protect me?”  
“You acted like a kicked puppy during most of that case.”  
“John, don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock scolds and John holds out his hand.   
“I lied to protect you, you lied for what?”  
“There was no reason to tell you.” Sherlock turns away and John lets out a laugh.  
“Of course not.”

“Oh!” Sherlock turns back to John, his dressing gown flying up. “It is me Moriarty is after, he is trying to drive a wedge between us.”  
“It’s not him.” John scolds, “It’s you. You lied.”  
“And he was the one that told you.” Sherlock points out with a small smile. Mystery solved. It was all about him! Moriarty is testing John’s loyalty to Sherlock after all, so much for it being infallible. Soon Moriarty will beat John too and then he’ll be bored of them. He’ll leave them alone or kill them. John shakes his head. Just once this wasn’t about Sherlock.  
“I’m going out.” Sherlock looks towards the door and then back to John.  
“You just got back.” Sherlock whines as he looks around quickly. John’s just gotten back. John’s been out a lot. John puts the milk in the fridge and leaves the rest of the bag on the table.  
“Yes, and now I’m going out.” Sherlock stares at the door long after it slams. Whether it’s intended or not, Moriarty is driving a wedge between them. 

Jim is testing John’s loyalty and it is failing.


	14. Confession

Jim watches with interest as John paces on the pavement below his apartment before leaving. Hands in pockets, head shaking, muttering to himself: pacing. It’s an indicator of infidelity, a very strong one, but in this case John is choosing between Sherlock and him. It’s fascinating. Jim feels the smile grow on his face as John pivots before completing another cycle. Somehow Jim has put himself on Sherlock’s level. Or rather has managed to knock Sherlock enough that the good doctor is unsure. Jim tilts his head. It truly was a mistake for Sherlock to lie to the veteran with trust issues. John could be trusted with anything. Loyal to a fault and ready to jump in front of a bullet for a stranger; John Watson was not someone worth losing. 

Jim appreciates it now. He can only imagine how tightly he’d hold to John if he ever managed to get John on his side, but John would never side with _Moriarty_ -but Jim? Jim takes a breath as the thought filters in his head from Kate. He could tell John and let the cards unfold. John leaves the block just as Jim determines he will tell John the truth. He knows enough now, and he’s seen enough that he’ll be able to put it together. Jim licks his lips. He’s just seen John and he wants him again. 

Patience. Jim lets out a breath.

The idea that John could see him is exhilarating. If John could look at him and see the Jim from the Moriarty-he shudders to think of it. If John could prove Jim was worth trusting, protecting and believing in… he shakes his head. He cannot build expectations. John may decide he’s a wanker and just leave. John may not trust him. Moriarty has done a wonderful job of keeping John away.

As if thinking the name were enough, Jim feels control slip away from him. He wonders if he’ll ever be strong enough to resist Moriarty, but as his body moves without his permission, he is reduced to background noise as Moriarty orders the slaughter of a competing cartel in India. Background noise, even as Moriarty begins to play around with a scientist in Baskerville. 

“This will be the nail in the coffin for the duo.” Moriarty promises as he changes into a suit at 11 at night, “and then, you’ll learn to behave.”

…

It’s been about a week since Moriarty put a strain on Sherlock and John’s friendship, but it’s also been a week since any kidnapping, so John figures it’s time for one as he notices a black car stopping at the corner. John lifts his hands in surrender as he sees Moriarty’s men.   
“Spread your arms and legs.” John laughs at the thought of a pat down before they kidnap him, but he complies anyway. Moran pats him down as Mariano steps out of the car. As John turns to look at him, he feels the arm slide around his neck. He wheezes as he turns into the choke, but Moran keeps a firm grip on him.

“Choke,” he manages to squeeze out, even as he knows his words won’t have any impact.   
“Sorry, John, didn’t have sedative.” They didn’t need sedative was John’s last thought. He knew the way there and back and wasn’t going to fight unless, of course, Moriarty is in the mood to beat him and leave him for dead. 

“Unnecessary,” John growls as he jumps off the bed and scowls. If he’s in a bed then he is safe for the day. He shakes his head as he walks out of the bedroom, his hand rubbing his sore neck. Jim looks up at him and John drops his hand to storm over to him. Jim uncrosses his legs as John slams his hands on the table.  
“Whatever this is has to stop.”  
“Now-”  
“Why am I here?” John interrupts. As soon as Jim opens his mouth John slams on the table again. Jim feels his pulse race. “No lies, no distractions. Just tell me, why am I here?”  
“Fine.” Jim closes his eyes as he drops his head. John’s hands start to sting as Jim motions towards the chair across the table. John pulls it out and sits as Jim closes the laptop on the table.  
“In order to understand why you are here you need to understand who I am.” Jim licks his lips. John leans back in his chair.  
“I’m Jim,”  
“Yes, I know, Jim Moriarty.” John interrupts; his frustration is clear in his voice.  
“No,” Jim corrects, stresses. “I’m not Moriarty.”

_Yes we are_

Jim’s eyes close as his head jerks slightly.  
“What?” John’s in disbelief, it’s expected.  
“Not in the way you think,” Jim continues but John shakes his head.  
“And you expect me to believe that?” He’s getting angry again.   
“Think about it,” Jim pleads because it’s suddenly important to him that John not view him as the killer, as the criminal. “You’ve noticed.” He insists as he remembers the odd looks that John would give him at times.  
“No.” John’s is firm and the fingers on his right hand curl. Jim knows he’s close to making a fist.  
“You noticed.” Jim continues, sure of his words and their truthfulness. “You didn’t care but you noticed,” Jim smiles, “and you will continue to.” John’s eyes narrow in mistrust but he doesn’t say anything. “Once you understand that, you can ask me again. You won’t understand otherwise.” Jim pauses a moment and when John doesn’t immediately respond he opens his laptop up. John glances over to Jim, because it would be Jim now, right? He purses his lips before looking away. This is nonsense.

Except he can very clearly tell the difference between the criminal’s mindset on certain days; days where he’s likely to be blown up or choked to death versus days he gets tea and apologies. This could be another trick of his, but then what’s the endgame? John watches Jim type at the computer before studying his face.

John remembers the transformation that occurred in front of him. He remembers the hand on his throat pulling back as the lines on Moriarty’s face softened, remembered bringing his hand down willingly. It went from fierce and life threatening to slow and strangely intimate. 

_“Mr. Moriarty-”  
 **“Jim.”**_

John shakes his head. This has to be some kind of trick. Jim watches out of the corner of his eye and wonders if there isn’t a difference for John to notice. Maybe Jim is worse than he thinks he is. Maybe there isn’t a difference anymore. He pauses, but the sheer confusion on John’s face lets him know there is enough of a difference.

“One of my men can take you home now,” Jim says softly and John looks up as his thoughts are broken. He grabs his phone and checks the time to find out he’s been sitting for hours. John nods and leaves without saying a word and Jim feels Moriarty bubble to the surface.

“This needs to stop.” He says out loud. “Or I’ll stop it for you.” Jim jerks and Moriarty stills him.  
“I’ve said it before.”

_I can stop John Watson. Stop his heart._

Moriarty knows its an empty threat, but he needs time to figure this out. 

…

Jim was right, John had noticed and the more he thought about it the more it made sense.

“Sherlock?”  
“Hmm.” Sherlock briefly acknowledges, and John knows what he’s doing isn’t important enough for Sherlock to disappear into the mind palace.   
“Pay attention!” Sherlock rolls his eyes but lowers his hands to the table and turns so that he’s facing John. John’s been demanding and yet distant as of late, so Sherlock tilts his head to assess their new standing.  
“Have you ever noticed anything odd about Moriarty, behavior wise?” Sherlock searches John’s face for any signs of distress but finds only confusion. Moriarty has already beaten John, left him for dead, fed him and given him tea so honestly Sherlock is not sure what else Moriarty could do to confuse John at this point. Sherlock looks down as he thinks but honestly, Moriarty is crazy and this all comes with the territory. If Moriarty was easy to figure out Sherlock would surely have gotten bored of him by now.   
“No, have you?” Though John is dull, he has been in Moriarty’s company more. “He is an excellent actor. Even the best disguises are in fact a self-portrait.” Red lips flash in his mind and he briefly files it away-maybe red lips point to-focus. “But with Moriarty there was nothing to see that day in Bart’s. He even had me convinced,” because he wouldn’t say fooled, “he was a gay man with very little upward trajectory or desire; just a victim of abuse still trying to get out of it.” John closes his eyes and shifts as Sherlock continues. “He completely and utterly convinced me he was someone else.” John opens his eyes and looks away before looking at Sherlock.  
“What if he didn’t?” Sherlock’s head jerks up to lock eyes with John’s.  
“What do you mean-oh!” Sherlock holds the word like a note. He lets the tips of his fingers touch each other. “You’re suggesting multiple personalities.”  
“Yes.” Sherlock breaks his gaze into John’s eyes and John notices the signs of Sherlock retreating into thought. He prepares to leave Sherlock to it but he pauses. “What do you think?”  
“I think it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Sherlock shifts and John can see the change from entering the palace to beginning a spiel of deductions so John grabs the edge of the chair and waits. “Firstly, it would explain why the man is so difficult to track, even the most elusive people have certain patterns, but multiple people in a body all having different paths makes for a very elusive body. Two personalities also mean there is no need to hide, they could simply swap with each other and throw people off, especially me. I saw one face, not the criminal I was against and I couldn’t see him because he wasn’t there. It doesn’t explain his obsession with you.” John shakes his head but Sherlock waves his hand as if to dismiss John’s thought. “Yes, John, it is an obsession. Ah, but it would explain why most of your meetings are relatively harmless. Jim and Moriarty are probably the two, so you bring out the docile one leaving less crime for me.” It explains a lot.

“Of course it makes sense to you,” John’s in disbelief but wasn’t this what he thought too? Shouldn’t he be glad to be confirmed? John lets go of the chair as Sherlock stands suddenly and searches his face. John offers Sherlock an amused but confused glance back as Sherlock steps around the table. “Which one takes you, then?”  
“What?” John is almost breathless but it’s alright because Sherlock doesn’t expect a response. John is being studied right now, as if the answer is written across his chest in sharpie. Sherlock murmurs something before standing straight up   
“It’s likely that Jim is first, the child, he would have kept his name. The second, assuming there is only two-which I think we can- would have come later. Likely during childhood, often during duress… Ah! Carl Powers” Sherlock groans out, closing his eyes briefly. John swallows. “Explains the shoes! Moriarty’s first. He has to call himself Moriarty. That explains why Jim was at Bart’s but Moriarty was at the pool. I couldn’t deduce they were the same because they weren’t! And he wasn’t lying either, making detection from that impossible! John you’re- how did you figure that out.” John huffs and breaks the eye contact that has been going on for decades.  
“The madman’s kidnaped me half a dozen times; I’m bound to notice something.”  
“Not quite,” Sherlock licks his lips and looks John up and down. “He told you-but which he-seems to be an important question. He wants you to make the distinction, why? Because he wants to be separate from what you know. So Jim, of course Jim.” John is amused at the way Sherlock can have a conversation with John without John saying a word and yet, Sherlock knows what he’d say. “But why give himself away?”

John is surprised at the pause. It seemed like Sherlock was buffering, and John smiles in amusement.

“What changed?” Sherlock nods as he drags out an ah. “Sentiment.” He moves even closer to John, so much that John debates taking a step back. “It is never a dull moment around you, John.” It’s said fondly and John narrows his eyes.  
“What? Why?”  
“It appears you’ve split a madman.” Sherlock’s eyes get wide and bright with excitement. “One half wants to kill you,” he says looking to the left. “The other half wants to woo you,” he continues looking to the right. John mouths the word woo as Sherlock looks back to his face. They’re close enough that a shift of feet would press them against each other.  
“That is indeed playing with fire,” he stresses the last few words. He smiles sadly and closes his eyes as he continues “You’ll like that.” He’d like that more than he could ever like Sherlock. Sherlock takes a breath and steps back before going back to his microscope. He watches John out of the corner of his eye and wonders how much longer they have left. Moriarty is not someone who will be denied. 

John lets the words bounce around his head but they won’t stick. Woo him? Jim? Moriarty? But the idea of being number one to someone like that, as an enemy and friend. God help him, John does like it. 

Sherlock doesn’t.


	15. Belief

John places the teacup down and shakes his head. It tastes off but he did take half of it in a gulp. He glances at the cup. Maybe they made it wrong. He takes a long blink as the world around him starts to sway. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as his head sways and Sherlock narrows his eyes.  
“It wasn’t me this time.” He answers John’s future question as he looks around. John tries to glare at Sherlock but his head is swimming. Sherlock looks to John and remembers their case. How he saw Moriarty under the drugs, that his biggest fear is Jim taking John. Only it is not a fear, it is a reality, and one he can do almost nothing about.  
“I suppose I should leave you here for Moriarty to collect; or rather Jim.”  
“You’re a bloody arse,” John slurs as he slows. He leans over the table but tries to push himself up with his hands.  
“Highly functioning sociopath,” Sherlock winks as he stands. “Though I do admit, I’m interested to see if you’ll re…ber… case…hat bl….”

…

“Am I just so easy to drug?” John groans as he walks into the living room before sitting at the table. Jim tilts his head back and forth as if considering the question.  
“Yes.” John taps his foot and Jim types something up on his laptop. John grabs a glass of water and Jim watches him drink from it. Jim sees the acceptance in John’s eyes and it washes over him with such force he finds it hard to speak. Still he breathes and forces the words out.  
“For example, I could have poisoned that.” John doubts that the criminal would go through so much trouble to repeatedly kidnap him just to poison his water, even if Jim wasn’t the criminal. At least, John thinks, not as much of a criminal as Moriarty. “Tea, twice in a row?”  
“Did you?” John looks into the glass and Jim wants to laugh.  
“No.” John takes it at face value and finishes the glass.  
“There.” Jim sighs before turning back to his computer. John fetches his book from the bookcase and sits at the table to read. Interesting. That’s the closest John has chosen to be to him when not threatening violence. He must believe. Jim alternates his gaze from the computer to John and only stops when John catches him. He wants to bring it up but the words won’t come out. It’s been so long with no one but Kate to see him that he wants to cry, get to his knees and look John in the eyes to beg ‘do you see me? Am I real?’  
“What?” John asks and Jim smiles fondly. John narrows his eyes before closing his book.  
“Wet your lips,” John’s eyebrows shoot up, “and wait for symptoms.” John looks back to his empty glass.  
“Symptoms?”  
“Stinging, Tingling, burning, numbness, discoloration. Symptoms.” John nods to himself and picks up the glass cup to fiddle with it. The silence quickly starts to approach awkward so Jim starts to turn back to computer but John speaks.  
“How long?”  
“At least a few minutes. Only get food from sources you trust.”  
“Hm.” John acknowledges as he taps his book on the table. Jim is able to type up a sentence before John speaks again. “Thank you.” Jim’s head snaps up to see the genuine thanks in John. “Jim.” He’s not quite sure how to process it so he stares as John goes back to his book and as John reads the next few pages. 

When John excuses himself, Jim doesn’t look up to watch him go. He’s going to burst with questions soon. Jim hears a phone vibrate and looks to his sitting next to John’s on the table. The vibration is in his jacket and Jim fishes the phone out before reading the text. Jim sits up straighter as he reads the words. He leans forward in his chair and his face turns blank.

“Don’t doubt me.” Moriarty looks up as he growls. His hand rubs his chin and he purses his lips. “Positively boring.” The phone vibrates again and Moriarty stands, pulling on the bottom of the T shirt as if it were a blazer. “Plebeian.” 

He blinks rapidly as Jim’s memories return to him. He stares down the hall that John disappeared into. He knows. Jim has managed to capture Johnny boy. Moriarty begins to think of a plan but his phone vibrates again and he growls as he reads the message. He looks back to the hallway before shaking his head. In the grand scheme of things John is nothing. He walks out of the apartment to see Moran leaning on the wall.  
“Moran, send Johnny boy home.” He turns down the hall without waiting for a response. He rereads the message before clenching the phone and lowering it. “A demonstration of power then,” he says out loud as he turns the corner, “and maybe I’ll properly introduce myself to John then.” He puts his hands into his pockets. “Without the ropes.” He shrugs.

“Crown jewels.” He decides and grins as he walks down the hallway.


	16. Guil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/30955.html#cutid1 for the transcript of the episode!!

Jim remembers his instructions as he pulls up his phone in front of the jewels. Convincing Moriarty to get caught in a way that didn’t involve killing people required his complete cooperation. Now that he thinks about it, Moriarty was surprisingly receptive to this, maybe he played him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

First things first, get everyone out of here and start sending a message. Jim continues to chew his gum as everyone evacuates, and oops! He sprays the guard without hesitation before dropping the spray.

Cap off, fix the hair, John will definitely see this.

Next, the bank. He presses the button before taking out his marker.

GET SHERLOCK

He adds a smiley face to the O and next is dear old jail. He’ll be there shortly, so let’s clear out all the baddies.

He can only imagine the chaos he’s causing. Still, it’s pretty fun.

Gum on the glass, diamond in the center, do a little dance and viola! He grins at the crown before placing it on his own head. Perfect. Now the rest.

He hears the metal detector go off and smiles, he’s harmless. There’s not much harm he can do with this sector and obviously wants to be caught, otherwise why be so obvious? The sirens are disturbing his music, which he does his best to enjoy until he can feel the hot stares of the police as they trained their weapons on him.

“No rush.” 

…

“Odd that he’s calling me and not you.” Sherlock leans back in his chair as Lestrade watches the screen.   
“He’s still a criminal mastermind, and that’s your area!” John exclaims but Sherlock notices the faint blush of his cheeks. Lestrade narrows his eyes as he glances between them.  
“I am certain he means the both of us.”  
John’s not sure. Moriarty left two messages for Sherlock, he usually just takes John.

It is weird to finally see Moriarty arrested. Despite all of the laws he’s broken, and all the harm he’d done to John, John had almost begun to see him as inevitable: untouchable. John had always wanted it, but now he’s not sure what comes next. 

Standing in the back of the courtroom, John watches the case progress unsure of the outcome. He’s unsure of what he wants the outcome to be. Moriarty always seemed undefeatable, even now, without a defense, John is sure the other is going to win. When Jim Moriarty turn around and winks at him John clenches his fist. It’s over. Moriarty is going to jail for a long time.

Of course Sherlock gets arrested instead.

…

“Left the little pet off of his leash?” Moriarty grins as he sees Sherlock in the cell.  
“John hardly needs a leash.” Sherlock replies, causing Moriarty to smile.  
“But I think he’d like one, no?”

…

“Not guilty.” John’s mouth drops as Moriarty turns to him and winks, again. John’s mouth snaps shut and Moriarty turns back around before the man beside him puts a hand on his back to push him forward. John believes Jim about both of them being separate, so it’s time for him to get to know Johnny boy a bit better. Jim doesn’t like that idea, but Jim doesn’t like a lot of things Moriarty does.

Moriarty looks at the caller ID and lets a smile grace his face as he answers his phone.  
“Excellent.” He responds to the man’s opening statement. “I knew you’d see it my way.” Moriarty ducks into the backseat of his car and it drives off making its way to Baker Street. “No, I’ll contact you.” The other doesn’t take too well to the power transfer but Moriarty’s not giving him a choice. “Become available.” He instructs before closing the phone.

He leans back and closes his eyes as he listens to Jim demand the man stop his drug ring by the school before Moriarty could get involved, an extra reward for a job well done. 

…

John hangs up the phone after talking to Sherlock to see a black car parked on the curb. He watches it for a few seconds and when the driver steps out John can do nothing but sigh. It’s Mariano and therefore, Moriarty.

“I’ve been told to inform you that no harm is going to come to Sherlock Holmes today.” He says with a smile as he opens the back door. It shouldn’t fill him with relief, it’s an empty promise, but it does. “I am also to take you to Baker Street.” John steps forward, nodding absentmindedly. Oddly enough, he didn’t think to ask if any harm was going to come to him, but the doors are closed and they are already moving. John clenches his hand and forces a smile.  
“Oh good, I’ve got some shopping to do first.” Mariano nods, he had been told about the odd understanding.

…

Moriarty twists the teacup as Sherlock sits and waits for Sherlock to drink the tea before he does.

“Most people knock, but then you’re not most people, I suppose.” Sherlock’s playing; Moriarty insults him before sitting down for tea. How domestic.

“Be honest, you’re just a tiny bit pleased, with _me_ back on the streets. After all, every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” They could talk about how that happened, but Sherlock already knows, and Moriarty knows that, so there’s no point to it. After getting into the Tower of London, hotel rooms are easy.  
“With you, back. Which one are you?” Sherlock lowers his cup and Moriarty doesn’t answer. Sherlock should be able to figure it out, even boring old Johnny boy can tell who’s who. “I must admit, I did not expect a split personality.” Jim smiles  
“I know, Mr. High functioning sociopath,” it’s said mockingly, “doesn’t consider other circumstances?” Sherlock sits up.   
“I am a highly functioning sociopath.” Sherlock insists as Moriarty shifts a bit on the couch to lean forward.  
“Do my research?” Moriarty grins. “I have.” Sherlock lowers his teacup as Moriarty nods. “I always do.” He tilts his head from one side to the other without taking his eyes of Sherlock’s. “So tell me, are you?” Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but Moriarty interrupts him. “Are you really?” Sherlock stiffens slightly.  
“Obvious. Isn’t it?” Sherlock says at last. Moriarty leans back in his chair. John was supposed to be here by now. Jim wonders where he is and Moriarty finds himself distracted. He closes his eyes, the ones that drifted to the door. When he opens them he flashes Sherlock one of Jim’s smiles and Sherlock leans forward. Moriarty’s given him a puzzle and he’s trying to solve it.  
“Well?” Moriarty doesn’t answer because Jim is cheering in his head. _John is here! John is here!_

He tells himself to shut up, he screams it and when Jim silences he leaves a buzzing in the back of Moriarty’s mind and the feeling of an impending migraine. John comes up the stairs with a bunch of bags in each hand and Mariano follows him with one bag in each. John takes one look at the pair of them and turns away.  
“Moriarty.” He greets before continuing to the kitchen. No one said no harm was going to come to him today.   
“Johnny boy,” Moriarty acknowledges back and it is in a pleasant enough tone that John can relax.   
“Tell Jim I said hi.” There, now Moriarty is annoyed. Moriarty rolls his eyes before turning back to Sherlock. Jim says hi back, but Moriarty is not a messenger.

“Hello, John.” Sherlock glances over his shoulder and John snorts. Sherlock would only have manners with a consulting criminal as a guest.   
“Anything in there that would make me mad?”   
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Sherlock replies. John’s groan of ‘toes with my butter’ and Mariano’s terrified face bring a smile to Moriarty’s. He’s not here for the soldier. _Yes we are!_ Jim sings out. He is here for the detective. 

_Sherlock? Sherlock’s boring!_

“Have you figured out what today was about yet?” John starts to put the groceries away as if this were a normal occurrence.   
“Of course.”  
“Have you told John yet?”  
“No.”  
“Why I broke into all those places and never took anything. You understand, don’t you?”  
“Obvious.”  
“Off you go then, John’s listening.” John looks to the other two.   
“You want me to tell you what you already know?”  
“No; I want you to prove that you know it. John doesn’t know, no need to be rude.”  
“You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to. You’ll never need to take anything ever again.”   
“Very good. Because...?” John furrows his brow and Sherlock glances towards him. Sherlock hates explaining.  
“Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.”   
“You hear that, Johnny boy? I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy.” John swallows. _I own you_ remained unsaid but John knows. Moriarty smirks as he sees the recognition in John’s face. “In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown.”   
“I did.” John interrupts without realizing and Sherlock frowns.  
“You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do.”  
“You were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities... terrorist cells. They all want me. Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.   
“If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?”  
“I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. ‘Daddy loves me the best!’ Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know.” Moriarty stops his sentence with a sip of tea and John’s mouth opens in surprise.

“He never makes me any tea.” John mumbles as he waves to Mariano and refills the kettle. “Care for a cuppa?” Mariano nods. It’s not like this could get any weirder. 

“Are you done with John?” Sherlock’s voice breaks through John’s thoughts. Sherlock sounds angry and annoyed. John’s touched.  
“No.” Moriarty looks over to John. He’s not sure if he is going to destroy him or send him away, but he’s not done yet. Then there is the other option that has been growing in the corner of his mind, one that imagines stealing John from Sherlock, having the army doctor admire him that way; want him in every way. He’s letting Jim’s thoughts mix with his again and it’s dangerous. No. Not done, not even close.   
“I can assure you there are better ways to rile me.” Sherlock could think of two that could maybe tie with John.  
“No, there isn’t.” Moriarty’s eyes follow John as he grabs the milk, “but my relationship with Johnny boy has nothing to do with you.” Sherlock doesn’t stir at the bait.  
“Interesting choice of words.” Sherlock leans forward. John’s back has stiffened and Mariano’s eyes are wide. Jim is pressing against Moriarty.   
“Interesting person.” Moriarty cedes to Jim as he stands. “Good day.” He tilts his head and Sherlock stands.  
“Why are you here? You wouldn’t check in on your enemies after a day like today.”  
“John’s not an enemy.” Jim’s teasing voice bubbles to the surface and everyone looks towards John who downs his tea in one hot scorching gulp. Moriarty has been here too long. Jim always gets stronger around John and now is proving to be one of those times. He needs John alone, he needs to scare him.  
“I’ll be seeing you Dr. Watson.” Jim bids farewell and Mariano puts down his cup. John shakes his head.   
“Now, hold on, I’m not privy to anymore kidnappings,” Jim opens his mouth but John shakes his head and Jim closes it. “It’s unnecessary, not clever.” Moriarty feels Jim retreating under John’s disapproval. “You could always phone me, on my phone, without using drugs.”

I’m going to start to look like an addict, John thinks, any more hits to the head and he’ll have brain damage. Jim flinches back and Sherlock narrows his eyes.   
“Sounds like a date.” Moriarty moves his head and Mariano heads down to the car. The switching is causing Moriarty to ache. The pain is sharp and throbbing and he can’t take too much more of it. Jim’s not supposed to fight for his head back. “I’ll ring you next time, Johnny boy.”  
“I’m serious.” Jim watches the way John licks his lips as Moriarty smirks.  
“So am I.” The smirk falls off his face as soon as John is behind him and he is fuming as he walks out the door. He heard Jim’s tenderness coming out of his mouth, in front of Sherlock no less! He lets the door close behind him and steps into the car. Jim is thinking and fighting and this is all wrong. Plus his head is in so much pain that he can’t think! Jim doesn’t want Moriarty to take John apart. Jim wants Moriarty to stop thinking of John’s insides on the floor. Moriarty grabs his head as he curls forward, the pain making anything else impossible at the moment.


	17. Doubt

Once again, thanks to http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/31483.html#cutid1 for the transcript of the episode!

Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan. 

…

“John, I never liked Sherlock and now that it’s all over the news that he’s the one responsible for those horrendous crimes you are always trying to solve,” she pauses to burp and John swears he can smell the alcohol from here.

“Your sister, no doubt;” Sherlock starts and John looks over to him, “she convince you that our relationship has reached its bitter end?” John ruefully smiles as he covers the microphone with his hand.  
“She’s trying to.”  
“Well,” Sherlock grimaces and John watches Sherlock mouth the word ‘drunk.’ John’s eyes widen. He swears he could see the word as it left Sherlock’s mouth.

Jim had tried to get him to realize the little moments that showed the whole picture, but this is just a coincidence. He knows Sherlock is not any of the things they have been portraying. Besides, John had been the one to point Sherlock in the right direction; he answered the question in just the right way.

_Like you always do._

John shakes Moriarty’s voice away.

“Are you even listening to me! God John you’re such an idiot for staying with him!” John flinches and Sherlock begins intently watching him. Harry disconnects. The word idiot floats in the air too.

_What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?_

He’s the idiot, his sister the drunk-

No.

This is Moriarty. He knew what would be said, and what conclusion he will have taught John to reach. John blinks.

_“What sort of Kidnapper leaves clues?”  
“The sort that likes to boast; the sort that think’s it’s all a game.”_

Isn’t Sherlock the one who treats it all as a game?

_The game is on, John!_

He credited it to Moriarty, but wouldn’t that be the best thing to do?

_“He didn’t need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away.”_

Then there was Claudette. Yes, Moriarty taught him to see the connections so he’d see these ones.

“I’m leaving.”  
“John.” Sherlock seems a bit hesitant. What was said? What conclusions did that lead John to?  
“I need to see someone.” Sherlock watches the door close behind John and closes his eyes. Moriarty warned that he would test John’s loyalty, and though it had been strong before, doubt has managed to crawl its way into John. He’s going to see Moriarty, instead of talking to Sherlock, he’s leaving.

Hopefully, when John fails Moriarty will leave them alone and not kill them.

Then again, what about Jim?

…

“Not me.” Moriarty grins and John’s glare falters for half a second. He doesn’t feel completely safe with Moriarty, honestly, but he has to figure this out for Sherlock. “I didn’t tell anyone to do anything.”

He wrote it out, left it out and happened to guide someone, _Moran,_ to the room, but he didn’t instruct anyone to do to anything.

Isn’t that beautiful?

“It has to be you; I have no idea why it wouldn’t be.”  
“No?”  
“They are going to arrest Sherlock,” John breathes out his worry.  
“Are you worried he’s guilty?”  
“No.” John is firm. “Especially if you’re not.” Moriarty grins and moves to sit right in front of John.  
“So you think I’m lying?”  
“You don’t have to be.” John shakes his head. “Sherlock has a lot of enemies. Five assassins moved in next door to us!”  
“Five?” Because when Mycroft talked to him there were only four.  
“Once I knew to start looking, I found them.” John answers, not bothering to ask how Moriarty knew these things.  
“What are you going to do? Expose him?”  
“He’s not a-”  
“Fraud?”  
“Moriarty-”  
“A fake, a phony, someone who ‘took you in’ just to watch you follow him.” John narrows his eyes.  
“He planned all of this to test you,” John shakes his head “he’ll ask if you believe them, insist on making you feel guilty when you figure him out.”  
“No.” John smiles in a way that could kill a man. “Not at all. I’ve figured you out. I don’t know how, but you did this, I’m sure.” John turns to leave and Moriarty lets him, letting a smile grace his face after the door closes.  
“Maybe you’re learning the players Johnny boy, but you still have no idea what the game is.”

…

John should be here when they arrest him, if this truly is to test his loyalty, so he’s not surprised when John comes bounding up the stairs.  
“What did Moriarty have to say?”  
“You’re a criminal.”  
“Oh?” The doorbell rings and Sherlock’s eyes leave John to look to the door. What perfect timing Moriarty had. “Well here they come to take me in.”  
“You’re kidding.” John turns as Lestrade comes up the stairs.

“The answer’s no.”   
“But you haven’t heard the question!”   
“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.” John turns to Lestrade to hear his denial but he just takes a breath.  
“Sherlock ...”   
“The scream?” John can practically hear her screaming now.  
“Yeah.”   
“Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan.” What did she do? “Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping?” Oh, she is the one who thought him guilty. “Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home” he reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eye, “there.” Sherlock glances to John as he lowers his hand. “Not even those who know you best.” John feels the guilt begin to settle in his stomach; he was doubting Sherlock, wasn’t he?

“Will you come?”   
Sherlock turns away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type, “One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.” John wants to blurt in that Moriarty said he had nothing to do with this, but that’s taking the criminals side over Sherlock.   
“It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.” Sherlock pauses, “give my regards to Sargent Donavan.” Is that it? Is she not Sally anymore? After Lestrade leaves, John moves to the window to watch him go.

“They’ll be deciding.”  
“Deciding?”  
“Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.”   
“You think?”   
“Standard procedure.” John looks to Sherlock briefly,   
“Should have gone with him. People’ll think…”   
“I don’t care what people think.”   
“You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.”   
“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.” Angrily, John turns towards him. Sherlock is so… so Sherlock that John knows he’s innocent, because if he were a criminal no one would catch him, and he’d be a lot more arrogant than annoying right now, but why doesn’t he care?  
“Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re...” John breaks off as Sherlock locks eyes with him. Sherlock’s daring him. Does John believe? Has Moriarty convinced him?  
“That I am what?”   
“A fraud.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat.  
“You’re worried they’re right.”   
“What?”   
“You’re worried they’re right about me.” Sherlock’s worried Moriarty was right about John.  
“No.”   
“That’s why you’re so upset. You can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.” That’s Moriarty’s phrasing. Sherlock narrows in on the look of recognition on John’s face.  
“I’m not.”  
“Moriarty is playing with your mind too.” Sherlock slams his hand onto the table. “Can’t you see what’s going on?” John turns towards the window.  
“No, I know you’re for real.” Sherlock knows Moriarty is listening, on the edge of his seat to see if the loyal knights are really loyal.  
“A hundred percent?” John looks away from the window to Sherlock.  
“Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all of the time.” Sherlock almost smiles as John looks away.

“That was fast.” John swallows as he lifts the phone to his ear. Sherlock has moved to the armchair.

“So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.”

“Evening, Mrs. Hudson.” Lestrade opens, as if he isn’t about to ruin her night  
“We need to talk to you!” Donavan shouts,  
“Have you got a warrant? Have you?” Sherlock puts on his coat as they continue downstairs.  
“Leave it, John.”   
“Really! Manners!” 

He’s not surprised that John is a tight ball of tension as the cuffs come out. Sherlock is sure that if he said so much as ‘go’ that John would unleash enough fury to take down all of the officers in the room and allow them to escape, but that would make John an accomplice and not another victim.

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.” Just the one charge then?   
“He’s not resisting.” The tension is so tight Sherlock could set him off with a nod, he’s tempted to. He’d love to see John rip through the force. Instead he attempts to calm him.  
“It’s all right, John.”   
“He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.” 

“Get him downstairs now.” Greg instructs, eager to get this over with. He knows Sherlock is innocent, and that all of this is pointless and he hates that he’s being made to do this.  
“You know you don’t have to do-”  
“Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.” John wants to punch Greg, but before he can decide to, Greg turns and leaves the room. John turns to Donavan who is standing near the door. She’s wearing a smug grin that doesn’t help the situation.

“You done?”   
“Oh, I said it. First time we met.”   
“Don’t bother.” Seriously, John is on his last nerve, the same people who couldn’t do their job well enough to arrest Moriatry’s are now going to arrest Sherlock??  
“Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line. Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?”   
“What kind of officer lets a known criminal get away and then arrest the only one who could find him?” Donavan shakes her head, still smug. “It seems the only time you do your job you arrest the wrong man.” She frowns, ready to retort when the Chief Superintendent walks in

“Donovan.”   
“Sir.”   
“Got our man?”   
“Er, yes, sir.”   
“Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.” John looks towards him and his fist clenches. “Often are, these vigilante types.” The chief turns to see John smiling at him with fury. Must be another weirdo. “What are you looking at?” 

And John has truly had it. Sally’s eyes widen and she instantly lowers her head as if she knows what’s coming and can’t bear to look. John starts to move on instinct and he doesn’t realize the extent of what happened until he hears the scream and sees the bloody mess he’s made of the room.

“John.” Sally is in shock, and does nothing to help the man with the broken nose, nor the police officer who grabs John.

“Are you all right, sir?” 

John decides, as he is thrown against the cop car, that he should’ve punched him harder. Sherlock can read the story and lets the amusement show in his face. He knew John was close, but to have been pushed, he wants to know what the man said.  
“Joining me?”  
“Yeah.” There’s the deadly smile. “Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent.” 

The officer behind Sherlock unlocks the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfers it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. Sherlock can definitely pick it now. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing. Before he can act John sighs.

“Sherlock, what is this?”  
“A test.” John’s face falls.   
“Who’s, Sherlock?” John’s voice gets low. “Tell me it’s Moriarty’s, please.” Sherlock grimaces, he looks to the radio.  
“Would you believe me?”  
“Yes.” This is the moment, isn’t it, to see where John will fall. It makes little sense, but Sherlock decides to claim it, so he can blame John picking Moriarty on himself. This is to test John but Sherlock fails once again.  
“It’s mine.”  
“You son of a bitch,” John says with amusement and a small laugh and Sherlock grins. “I knew you were innocent.”

Sherlock wants to kiss John, he wants to crush him in a hug and proclaim to the world that he has the best man with him, the most loyal man, the man who beat Moriarty, but this is neither the time nor place for that. Instead, Sherlock smirks. 

“A bit awkward this”  
“I never truly doubted you.”  
“I know, but I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.”  
“What’s that?” John is a fast thinker, it’s saved many of the English lives in the war, but this moved faster than he could process.

Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officers behind them double over in pain and grab at their earpiece as a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls an officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. John’s hand follows. John gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events as his brain catches up. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers.   
“Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?” Sherlock fires the gun in the air twice, and John makes a note to teach Sherlock gun safety. “ **Now** would be good!”

“Do as he says!” Greg directs everyone to get down as he kneels.

“Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a... you know...” Sherlock aims the gun at John’s head.  
“...my hostage.” John lets out another gasp.  
“Hostage! Yes, that works – that works.” He whispers to Sherlock. “So what now?”   
“Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.”

That last line sounds so much like a Doctor Who episode that John can’t help a chuckle as he begins to follow after Sherlock.


	18. Confrontation

If you asked John how this all happened, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“The truth about Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock voices as he stands in Kitty Riley’s apartment. He gives John the hairpin and begins to pace.“The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. _Bravo_.” Kitty shakes her head.  
“I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down,”  
“And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How _utterly_ convenient. Who is Brook?” John listens to part of the conversation as he picks his own handcuff, “What were his credentials? Why did you believe him?” John pauses as the cuffs fall off his hand. Kitty stands. Sherlock turns. There in the doorway is Jim Moriarty, except it’s not Jim and it’s not Moriarty. 

“Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal...” He freezes, and it’s a deer in the headlights look Moriarty would never have. “You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.” It’s not Moriarty who’s scared, but it’s not Jim who is yelling. John feels something in him lurch.

“You _are_ safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.”  
“So _that’s_ your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!” John turns to Kitty. John has to be angry, nothing else makes sense right now.  
“Of _course_ he’s Richard Brook. There _is_ no Moriarty. There never has been.”  
“What are you talking about?” Why is Sherlock so quiet?  
“Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.” 

“Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man.” John glares as he feels fire erupt in his veins. “Don’t ... don’t h... Don’t hurt me.”  
“Weren’t you the one who was going to hurt me? Aren’t you the one that beat me, kidnapped me? We’ve _met_ , remember? _You were gonna blow me up!_ ” He leaves out so much, but he can’t give their history in mere seconds.  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Moriarty gestures towards Sherlock. “He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?”  
“You are an excellent actor, but this isn’t the truth.”  
“Oh, it isn’t?” Moriarty speaks as he stands and tilts his head. Kitty shakes her head, Sherlock swallows and John grits his teeth. “This Moriarty, that he created, is the truth?” John swallows. “Or am I the truth?” Jim says with a small tilt of the head. “The truth is what he made me make it, all tailored to you.” Jim meets John’s eyes, and he doesn’t sound like a liar. “Love. Hate. Danger. Weren’t you entertained?”  
“Sherlock, you’d better explain, because I am not getting this.” John doesn’t take his eyes off of him.  
“Oh, I’ll be doing the explaining.” Kitty hands John a folder and he shifts his attention to it. “Conclusive proof.”

Sherlock does not move, he does not speak, had he not needed to he would not have breathed. He stares at Moriarty, whichever version he’s getting, as he plays out his hand. He’s been planning this for a while, has been sowing doubt into people’s minds or the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing left for him to do. Discredit Sherlock. The best way to do this would be to have him confirm this with no way to take it back, to… to…

Ah. So the plan is to die.

Moriarty spots the recognition in Sherlock’s eyes and flashes a devastating smile. 

“For god’s sake the man was on trial!” John exclaims and Kitty explains away perfectly, trying to weave little wisps of doubt in John, no doubt that he’s on the cusps. Sherlock will realize this and attack, and then John should take that outburst as proof that Sherlock is the criminal here.  
“I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.” Not enough “I’m ... I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD. ” John continues looking through the folder. Moriarty is surprised John hasn’t already turned on him, but daddy’s had enough now.  
“Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over.” Sherlock does nothing so Moriarty frantically continues “Just tell them. Just tell them. _Tell him!_ ” Sherlock growls and bears his teeth, like an animal in a cage. Jim takes a small step back and Sherlock starts to walk towards him.  
“It’s all over now-NO!” He puts as much fear into his voice as he can. “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!”  
“Stop it. _Stop it NOW!_ ” Sherlock yells and John clears his throat. Jim falls onto the stairs. John’s heart stops. _No._ Sherlock takes a step towards him. _Sherlock couldn’t be…_

Suddenly like clarity, John sees all the pieces. As Sherlock begins to chase Moriarty up the stairs the evidence falls into place and of course he would think Sherlock is the criminal. Look at how the evidence has been presented to him. Look at which pieces were shown to him. 

“I think that’s enough now.” John says lowly and Sherlock turns to John, frantic. He takes a few steps towards John as he speaks.  
“John, I swear to you, I…” Sherlock trails off, reading something in John’s body language. John moves his gaze from Sherlock to Richard. Moriarty, still gripping the rail frantically, calls out to him. 

“This act is never going to fool me. Moriarty. You’ve paid Kitty.”  
“I haven’t been given a dime, I swear it.” She interrupts. She isn’t lying.  
“I don’t believe this, Sherlock doesn’t believe it. Just stop this. Right now.” Moriarty runs through every possible scenario he had for this, and if John is this certain at this point, none of them end with him winning, so it would be best to cut his losses. Suddenly, Moriarty drops the act. John can practically feel the shift in the air. Kitty takes a step back as Moriarty frowns and nods.

“She really wasn’t paid.” He insists before raising his left hand and snapping his finger. Glass shatters and Kitty drops to the floor. John ducks under the TV stand but Sherlock just takes a step towards Moriarty.  
“She was very pushy, always asked about mummy and daddy.” Moriarty grimaces. John checks Kitty to see that it was just a tranquilizer.  
“Is the right one for me?” Sherlock tilts his head and Moriarty shakes his head.

He can’t kill Sherlock yet, John still believes in him. 

Fuck.

“Now why would I want to kill you?” Moriarty begins flirting as he circles Sherlock. “I love you.” Sherlock blinks in shock and John frowns. “You complete me.” Moriarty leans into Sherlock’s space as he looks up and down the other’s body. John feels the need to clear his throat. “What do you measure a hero against if not his villains?” He murmurs, standing inches from the other.  
“So you are the hero now?” Sherlock locks eyes with Moriarty, who grins.  
“I’m the people’s hero. I give them what they want, you send them to jail.” He teases, “It’s all about perspective.”  
“That’s ridiculous!” John interrupts. Moriarty takes a step back, the trance broken.  
“What’s ridiculous, Johnny boy, is sitting on the floor while the rest of the grownups are talking.” Moriarty chastises. John shakes his head in disbelief but stands.  
“What was all this gallivanting for, anyway?” John spread his arms, “all this to make people believe Sherlock’s a criminal?” Moriarty shifts his attention.  
“Sherlock is a criminal. He just hasn’t been arrested yet-Oh wait. You’ve got quite the record that the Iceman keeps locked up. Some require a bit more persuasion to see it.” John turns his head to the side and Moriarty snaps his fingers again. More shattered glass. Sherlock doesn’t move. John grabs the dart in his neck as he begins to fall and when he hits the ground Moriarty turns to Sherlock.  
“You couldn’t do it. Even if you do kill me now he’d still believe in me.” Sherlock doesn’t glance to the fallen form of John. Moriarty grins.  
“Sherlock, I would never kill you, not when you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself.”

When the dart pierces Sherlock’s skin he grimaces, but otherwise appears unfazed. Moriarty sighs as he looks to John.  
“I wouldn’t worry too much. John doesn’t believe you’re a criminal.” Sherlock falls to his knees, arms grabbing at the couch to keep him upright. “But he can still lose faith in you.” Sherlock slips from the couch and his vision blurs. Moriarty walks away.

“There are many roads to the same destination.”

…

Sherlock and John groan as they wake up in Kitty’s sitting room. Sherlock crawls over to John before letting himself fall on the carpet.

“What does Moriarty want?” John asks as he slowly sits up.  
“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock smiles, before he starts laughing, “because you didn’t give it to him.” John turns to Sherlock who is now sporting a huge smile and closed eyes. “John Watson,” he shakes his head, starting to laugh again, “the man who cannot be beat.”  
“You knew?”  
“I couldn’t interfere with your decision to believe me or not. That would ruin his game, and he’d count you the loser and kill us both.” John grabs the pillow on the couch of Kitty’s apartment. “I thought for sure you-oof!” John whacks Sherlock with the pillow as hard as he can.  
“You idiot!”  
“John!” Sherlock raises his hands to defend himself but John has a few more hits in him.  
“Prick!”  
“Ah!”  
“How come no one ever says John Watson, this is what’s happening!?”

…

“You done?” Sherlock asks after leaning against the wall, his clothes ruffled and his hair a mess. He looks to the left, where John is also sitting, pillow held loosely in his left hand. John looks up to Sherlock and lets out a breath before hitting him once more in the head with the pillow before letting it drop.  
“Okay. Now I’m done. ” John seems to sober up glancing around the apartment. “Where’s Kitty?”  
“The reporter? I don’t know. She could be dead.”  
“Then we are alone in a dead woman’s apartment who offered to spill the beans on you being a criminal.”  
“Right then, we should go.” They run out of the house but Sherlock pulls John into the shadows as soon as they are outside. John’s face sinks in realization.  
“Can he just do that? Completely change his identity, make you the criminal?”  
“His story just went to print. It’s already done.” Sherlock slows as the realization of what’s really happened sets in. “He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.”  
“Your word against his.”  
“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to” no, he can’t tell John.  
“To?” Sherlock doesn’t respond. “I didn’t believe him, wasn’t that the whole point?”  
“There’s something I need to do.” _Not when you can do it yourself._  
“Can I help?”  
“No. On my own.” He briskly moves away from John. Moriarty will likely threaten John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He’ll likely threaten his parents, and, and Mycroft.  
“John Watson THIS is what’s going on.” John angrily replies, referring to his earlier outburst. “Oh, thanks Sherlock!” he sarcastically replies to himself. Sherlock pauses and turns back to him.  
“I wonder who gave Moriarty my life story?” he questions out loud, leading John down the path that will be the safest.  
“Mycroft.” John seems to growl.

John leaves without learning Sherlock’s plan and that Sherlock anticipates that this is the last time they will see each other.

…

“She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know” John opens and Mycroft lets out a resigned sigh  
“Ah.”  
“Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me”  
“Are you certain, you do spend a lot of time in the man’s presence lately; what kind of entertainment do you provide him?”  
“How dare you. You know what little control I have over that.”  
“John…”  
“So how does it work, then, your relationship? Do you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim? Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.”  
“I never inten… I never dreamt”  
“So this ...th-th-this...” he looks through the newspapers again “is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: ‘Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.’” He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm. “How did you meet him?”  
“People like him, we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a key code: a few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.”  
“And you abducted him to try and find the key code?”  
“Interrogated him for weeks.”

John hates this; he’s bitter and angry and Mycroft has the audacity to say sorry?  
“Tell him, would you?” John opens the door to turn away before stopping at Mycroft’s gasp. “He knows.” Mycroft stands and slams his hands on the desk. “He sent you here.”  
“What of it?” John snaps and freezes at the look on Mycroft’s face.  
“Oh no. He’s planning to kill himself.”  
“Are you kidding?” John begins another rant but Mycroft has rushed past him, phone to his ear and John’s stomach sinks. He follows after, even as his own phone rings.  
“What happened? Is she okay?” John answers. Mycroft pauses. “Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming”  
“What is it?”  
“Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she’s been shot.”  
“What?”  
“Well, probably one of the killers we managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying,”  
“Ignore it.”  
“Are you-Ignore it-you.”  
“No, she isn’t dying. I would know. That’s a distraction. Sherlock is the source. We have to find him.” There is a car waiting outside and John jumps in, unsure of why he believes the brother after everything.  
“Bart’s.” he just knows this is where is all would end. It is where it all began, isn’t it?

…

John is running into Bart’s when he sees him and in a flash of anger he reacts. John wraps his hand around Jim’s throat and slams the other into the nearest wall. The few people around the hospital scatter. 

“Where’s Moran?” John growls out and Jim wheezes. Jim’s arms claw at John’s.  
“Not here, was sent to watch you at Baker Street.” So Mycroft was right. John squeezes and Jim wonders if this is it, if he’s going to be killed by the man he thought would save him.  
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.” The coloration on Jim’s face indicates he’s not talking anytime soon so John let’s his throat go before throwing him against a different wall. “Talk.” He demands.

“It’s Jim! I’m Jim!” Jim gasps out as soon as he can and John freezes in his motion of winding back a punch. “Moriarty’s framing Sherlock. Ah!” He grabs his head and falls to his knees and John takes a step back, hands still clenched.  
“I know.” John growls, “Why are you here?”  
“To say sorry and to warn you.” Jim groans as his body is being ripped from it. “Moriarty plans to make Sherlock kill himself.” Jim whimpers in pain, kneels to rise and grabs John’s shirt. “Stop me!”

John does the only thing he can think of, which may not have been the smartest. John punches him in the face hard enough to knock him out, and holds him until Mycroft arrives with Sherlock.

…

Moriarty groans as he wakes up. He realizes he’s back in Mycroft’s cage and John is sitting at the other end of the table.

“So that was it? Your big plan? Have Sherlock kill himself. It would never work.”  
“YOU RUINED IT!” Moriarty shouts, ignoring John’s question as he lunges forward, held back by restraints. “ARGH!” John lets Moriarty yell and knows if Moriarty ever gets out, he’s going to kill him. It makes him bold.  
“I stopped you.”  
“No one else ever could.” Moriarty seems to calm dangerously quickly. “John Watson.” He leans forward so much that his restraints are the only thing holding him up. “You were the only one who could stop me.” John says nothing. How could Moriarty still scare him in a position of helplessness? “That’s why Jim chose you. He could tell, even then, what a danger you would be to me.”  
“Moriarty.” John starts.  
“You won’t get anything out of me here, but I’m done for now.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“You heard me. I’m done.”  
“Giving up? Seriously?”  
“I can’t fight three wars at once, Dr. Watson. “I beat myself. Had Jim not interfered Sherlock would be dead, and you a poor widow on the pavement.” John clenched his hand.  
“This isn’t working you know, I’m not sympathizing.” Moriarty lets out a laugh.  
“I don’t want you to sympathize. I want you to be afraid.”


	19. Truth

_I want you to be afraid._

John hears the voice in his head, again, as he makes his way to the stairs of his flat. He’s not afraid. Moriarty is locked up and will remain there under Mycroft’s care. It’s done. Sherlock is alive, John is alive, and there is nothing to be scared of.

They came so close. So close to betraying each other, to Sherlock plummeting off the edge of Bart’s and John believing he should. 

He is not afraid. 

“We need milk,” Sherlock opens as John bounds up the stairs, like nothing else needs to be said between them. John looks at him before taking a breath and the question leaps from his throat.  
“Would you have jumped?” Sherlock shrugs without looking away from his book.   
“I would have done everything I could have to not jump.” That’s not an answer. There’s never an answer, never a presenting of information from him without John needing to apply pressure.  
“But would you have jumped?” John is firm, and he grabs the back of his chair as if to brace himself for the answer he knows is coming. After saying it, even he knows what the answer is, but he has to hear it, to know how close it was. Did Sherlock make his peace with it, or was it simply a possibility he would have fought against?  
“Yes.” John lowers his head before shaking it and lifting it back to look at Sherlock.  
“At no point did you think to say ‘John Watson, this is what’s happening,’ or anything of the sort?”   
“John.” Sherlock lowers the book and shifts his gaze to John.  
“No.” John cuts off, “You know what he’s been doing to me, you know he’s been testing me, and yet you still chose to hold things back. I believe in you. I thought you’d believe in me. You would have died and let me believe it was my fault.” Sherlock has nothing to say to that. John decides to wait until he does.

The silence of the flat is interrupted by John’s ringtone. 

“Hello,” John opens, “Mycroft.”  
“He won’t talk to us, John. I would like you to stop by and see if he will talk to you.”  
“I was just there;” John sighs, “he didn’t really talk to me.”  
“Not Moriarty.” Mycroft clarifies.  
“Jim.” John breathes, he finds himself sympathetic. Jim isn’t willing in this. He’s a victim. Now he has to rot forever in Mycroft’s cage with Moriarty. Sherlock closes his book. “Okay. I’ll come back.”  
“There will be a car arriving shortly,”

It does. As John gets in he tries to plan what to say but nothing comes to mind; unless this is Moriarty tricking all of them. Still, he’s restrained. There is nothing Moriarty can do to him. John nods to the guards and Mycroft escorts him through the scanners, detectors, and other security measures. He takes a deep breath before looking.

It’s different seeing Jim there in Mycroft’s cage. He looks tired and defeated and John crosses his arms as he watches the other.  
“He can’t hear us in here, John.” Mycroft starts, but John doesn’t know if he really believes him. “After you left Moriarty’s behavior shifted in a way I’ve never seen before. Throughout the time he was here he was consistent in his behavior, however, after you left, Moriarty changed. Remembering the conversation you had with my brother, I assume this is Jim.”  
“Yeah,” John confirms.  
“We have not attempted to talk to him yet.” John looks over to Mycroft, confused. “Since you and Jim have an established relationship, we thought it be best to have you go in there.”  
“And do what? Have tea?” Jim is restrained. He is looking at the floor in thought. Mycroft shrugs.  
“If it will help. We need to know what he’s planning, what has already been done, and what Moriarty would try to do to get out of here.”  
“He can’t get out of here though, right?”  
“Nothing is impossible, John.” Mycroft moves to sit in a chair behind them, “but it would be very difficult to escape this place.” John turns to stare at Jim.   
“What should I say?”  
“As far as I’m concerned, you have the expertise here. Just get him to talk; I’ll know if anything is useful and true.” John nods and turns away. It’s just Jim in there.

_Or am I the truth?_

Just Jim. What does the even mean?

“Dr. Watson,” Jim greets without looking up from the floor. “I have to say I can’t take a beating nearly as well as Moriarty can, and I have much less information than he does, but I understand if you’re been sent here to do that.”  
“I haven’t.” John doesn’t say anything else, just stands at the door silently.  
“So what have you been sent into here to do?” John doesn’t answer, Jim looks up. “Talk? Bring Moriarty out? Get me to spill his secrets?”

John clenches his fists. He wants the truth, but he wouldn’t know who to believe, or what to believe. This seemed a lot easier when he was staring at Jim outside with Mycroft. Now that he’s in here he doesn’t know what to do. His established relationship was to be completely at their mercy, doing what they wanted. It was not standing over them in a position of power while they could do nothing.  
“Dr. Watson. I am to understand time is not on your side here, you’d best get started.”  
“You can’t think you’ll be walking out of here.” John responds with a shake of his head.  
“He has plans, nothing is impossible.” Jim can’t lean back, but John imagines that’s what he’d want to do.   
“This facility is perfect.” John insists.  
“Maybe, but it will always have at least one flaw.”  
“What’s that?”  
“The guards.” John thinks of each of the men he saw and wonders who would be a chink in the armor.

“You were testing me.” John shifts the conversation, wondering if Mycroft wanted him to continue.  
“Moriarty was; just like he tested Sherlock. He likes knowing what people are made of. He thinks it’s interesting.”  
“Sherlock?” John shakes his head, “what was his test?”  
“The pool. We convinced him you were Moriarty with a few words. You reached out to him for help, but he was too blind to read your signals. He was too hurt to consider you were under duress. Honestly, he was eager to believe you were Moriarty.”  
“No. You tricked him.”  
“Honestly, John. Sherlock couldn’t believe that the soldier who killed for him, the doctor who saved him, and the friend who believed in him were genuine.” Jim also has trouble believing it sometimes. “He thought you were too good to be true, and that thought blinded him.”  
“He thought I was too good to be true. No way.” John thinks of the screeching violin keeping him up at night, the days without talking, and the way Sherlock puts him down. He blinks, and Sherlock is in front of him again, pointing a gun at his temple.  
“It is unbelievable. You both can be terrible people.” John frowns and Jim stares at where Mycroft must be looking in. “Moriarty acknowledges we are all bad people. He never kills a complete innocent because who is?”  
“He didn’t kill us.”

Jim doesn’t feel Moriarty stopping him, and knows that for some reason he wants John to know the whole truth.

“He may.” Still nothing. If anything, Moriarty is encouraging it. “Sherlock bored him after that. He was incredibly smart, but also so dull. He would have taken that pill, he would have jumped, he would have walked straight into a trap alone because he was too vain to think he needed backup.” Jim finds his voice taking on a darker tone. He is slipping.  
“The truth is I’ve had many opportunities to kill Sherlock, but he doesn’t matter anymore. I have tested him in my own ways and he has failed. He’s boring.”

Mycroft is in shock. How is it that John can open a well of information with few words, when it took so long for them to get practically nothing before? He watches the John and Moriarty interaction with his finger hovering over the button that will swarm the room with guards.

“So why not kill him?”  
“I was going to kill you both when you failed your test.”  
“Sherlock mentioned a test, but I still have no idea what’s going on.”  
“SURPRISE!” Moriarty squeals, “little Johnny boy knows nothing!” Moriarty shakes his head. “You are vapid at times, it’s tiring.”   
“You could tell me what’s going on.”  
“I could, but where is the fun?” Moriarty grins. “Tell you what, if you can figure this out on your own, no cheating, I will answer any one question the Ice Queen wants me to.”  
“I don’t even know what you want me to figure out.” The sigh Moriarty lets out has John frowning.  
“Why don’t we see what you could come up with?”  
“And you’ll answer honestly, no tricks?”  
“If I must.” Moriarty close his eyes. “You can go now Johnny boy, my offer is only good while I’m in here though, so hurry.”

Mycroft grins at the opportunity.

“Why do you think you’re leaving?”  
“Why do you think I’m not?”  
“I’m not done talking to you yet.”  
“Yes, you are, and I have no intention of answering Mummy’s questions.” Moriarty smiles, all teeth, and John’s pulse goes up. “But do come back.” John’s heart hammers in his ears as he walks out of the room. “I look forward to seeing you on the other side Johnny! I’ll bring my gun.”

The door slams behind John, and his shoulder erupts in fire in memory. Moriarty watches John leave and has a flashback to a forgotten memory. He blinks, suddenly in a room with his old principal.

_“Multiple Personality Disorder is a more common name for it, yes.” She says, “but honestly, Jim, you don’t show many signs of it. A voice in your head telling you to do bad things, or feeling like someone else is doing them just seems like you trying to get out of trouble. There are many symptoms of this you don’t have. I think you just like to misbehave sometimes.”_

Moriarty shakes his head and wants to scream. When did this happen? His head pounds. He has just enough time to register Jim is in shock as well about the flashback before he blacks out.


End file.
